


The Inquisitor's Ghost

by nothelping



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 182,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothelping/pseuds/nothelping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She met him in the dungeons of the White Spire. She was the only one who could see him, remember him. Five years later, and Cole was back in her life, appearing out of thin air, just like the ghostly apparition he was, the demon he was, tempting her with something she could never have. Because every mage knew: Never take a demon into your soul. You'll change yourself forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cole

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Author's Note** : Part I of this story is based on the book "Dragon Age: Asunder" by David Gaider, the lead writer of the Dragon Age games. The book takes places about a year after the conclusion of Dragon Age 2, and about two years prior to Varric's interrogation by Cassandra. The book is the origins story of Cole, a mystical killer who stalks the halls of the White Spire and later a possible Companion of the Inquisitor in Dragon Age 3. The whole book centers on finding out who and what Cole is, which you the reader (as well as Cole the character) discover at the end. Since Part I of this story takes place before the events in Dragon Age: Asunder, Cole himself still doesn't know what he is in Part I of this story. Part III starts at the beginning of the third game.

 **Disclaimer** : BioWare owns Dragon Age and its characters. I just play with them.

**Part I – The Ghost of the Spire**

_In the absence of light, shadows thrive_

_\- Threnodies 8:21, Chant of Light_

_9:36 Dragon_

_The White Spire_

A dark figure moved easily through the blackness of the catacombs like a wraith. The shadows skittered around him, frightened by what was coming through the darkness. The rats fled out of his path, as if threatened by an approaching danger.

The catacombs were located beneath the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux, which was used by the local Circle of Magi and acted as a templar stronghold in Orlais.

The lone figure came to a stop in front of a large, heavily armored door that blocked his path. His pale hand lifted, his calloused fingers tracing over the ancient and arcane symbols that were carved into the stone wall next to the door that led to the dungeons. Despite the templars' hatred of the Tevinter magisters, they were more than willing to use the magisters' magic to lock up their own.

His fingers moved dexterously over the rusted bolts and locks of the door, until the colossal padlocks opened for him. The metal door opened with a loud, whining creak to reveal a long and dismal hallway.

The figure moved down the dark corridor that was only lighted by a single wall sconce every few feet. His footsteps were a broken rhythm on the cracked and dirty concrete floor. He kept to the shadows, apart of them, proceeding down the gloomy corridor toward the dark abyss that was the dungeons that dwelled below the lively halls of the White Spire where the mages lived with their templar tormentors.

There were many levels in the great Tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces. He rarely went up there. He was more comfortable down below, with the things the templars had forgotten as well as the things they  _wanted_  to forget. The bowls of the Tower reached deep into the earth, and they were his home. He loved the darkness. He felt at one with it, attuned to its harmonies and its discords.

Moments later, and he was passing through the last heavily metaled door that would lead him to the dungeons. The dungeons of the Spire were filled with hundreds and hundreds of cells on multiple levels. But one inhabitant in one particular cell was calling to him, like a siren's call. He could  _feel_  them. Could feel their pain. It was as if their broken spirit was crying out to him.

They needed help. They needed mercy. They needed a way out.

And he would give it to them.

Snaking through the shadows as if born to them, the lone figure moved deeper into the dark depths of the dungeons of the Spire. The air grew more stale and harder to breathe with each step he took, his surroundings morbid with their dripping walls and lichen-splotched ceilings. The cries of the tormented echoed in this dark place and the prisoners' blood and death were imprinted into the stone.

He never liked coming here unless he absolutely had to, when he felt he would fade into nothingness at any given moment.

The mages and templars both feared this place. The recent stories that circulated through the crowded halls of the White Spire increased their caution to approach the dungeons. The stories kept them away. Stories of a mystical killer that was rumored to stalk the halls. This unworldly specter was said to appear from the very pits of hell, taking not only the lives but also the souls of his victims. Race, age, and gender were no concern to this killer who willfully took the lives of mages without a single witness. A few mages and templars claimed to have seen a strange young man wandering the halls of the Spire, but their memory was faulty and in time they forgot him completely. And so this killer was granted a name that was feared by both mages and templars alike.

 _I am the Ghost of the Spire_.

It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind. It seemed fitting, he thought, since a ghost didn't exist. A ghost travelled unseen amongst the living. A ghost was a soul that was lost on its way to the Maker's side. A ghost was left to drift alone in an empty wasteland of shadow. But ghosts where of the dead.

Cole wasn't dead.

He slept, he hungered, he breathed, he bled, he sweat. Those were not things dead people did.

 _No_ , Cole thought,  _I'm not dead. Yet, at the same time, I don't exist_.

Venturing down a circular stairway, Cole navigated into the lower chambers of the dungeons to where the prisoners were held. He turned a corner and glided down a dark and dismal hallway, cells on either side of him. Most of the cells were empty, but some housed mages, young and old and of every different race. But they all had one thing in common: hopelessness.

Cole moved in front of the metal bars completely unseen. The inhabitants didn't raise their heads as he passed in front of their prison cells, whether because they knew no one was coming to release them or because they couldn't see him, he didn't know.

No one ever saw him. No one ever remembered him. He was lost in a world that couldn't see him, couldn't remember him. Loneliness and emptiness were his only companions.

Cole overheard muted cries and sniffles to his right and slowed as he passed a cell that contained a human female with short, white-blonde hair. He recognized the young woman, but only by sight. Cole had watched both the male mages and templars stare at her with a strange look in their eyes that closely resembled hunger. It was odd and he had difficulty comprehending it. Cole had watched the sorceress meet with a few male mages in dark corners of the Tower. Cole had watched them, unseen as always, trying to understand what they were doing rutting against one another and making strange sounds.

Cole looked at the woman through the wayward strands of his hair that always hung into his eyes as he contemplated this woman's fate. She was an apprentice with little talent for magic. She was currently awaiting the Right of Tranquility.

 _Tranquil_.

Cole almost shivered at the name. They walked aimlessly, emotionlessly, stripped of their abilities and doomed to live in passive service to their tormentors.

He felt pity for the woman crying sorrowfully in her cell.

Feeling bad for her, Cole looked away from the woman's pitiful form and quickened his pace, turning left down another corridor.

He was close now, he thought, acutely aware of everything around him. He loathed how his pulse was pounding in eagerness, adrenaline surging in his blood, his anticipation mounting as he drew closer to the siren's call. He despised himself for coming here, for what he planned to do, but it could not be helped. He had desperately fought the pull, but he could fight it no longer.

It was the only way. The only way to remain.

Cole stumbled abruptly as an ominous coldness gripped him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he reached out for the wall to steady himself, afraid his hand would pass right through the stone wall. He suddenly felt like he was disappearing, like he was becoming transparent. He felt like he was drifting away, as if he were exhausted and on the verge of sleep, being lulled into a slumber he knew he'd never awaken from.

There was only one way to ensure he awakened. Only one way to prevent himself from becoming immaterial.

The panic rose within him, clawing at his throat as he felt the shadows surround him, seep into his skin, and he feared at any moment he would be lost in them forever.

It was his greatest fear.

 _Not now_ , he cringed, fighting the shadows that threatened to swallow him whole.  _Not yet!_

He was trembling. His heart was hammering. A cold sweat was pouring down his face.

The shadows abruptly stopped closing in on him and he found he had regained the ability to breathe.

On a ragged exhale, Cole's hand came up to rub at his clammy forehead. He inhaled slowly, taking air into his expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly. After a few more breaths, his breathing slowed, returned to normal, and he relished in the feel of firm and solid flesh beneath his fingertips.

He was still real.

 _It's not too late_.

Cole breathed with a relief that was soul deep, though he still felt trapped somewhere between what was real and unreal.

After a few moments, he was able to collect himself somewhat and push the darkness down deep into himself, control it, and keep it at bay. His hand slowly fell away from the wall and he continued forward.

His stride became more determined as he drew closer to the cell that seemed to be calling his name. After passing a few dozen cells, Cole's pulse quickened in tandem with his footsteps as he turned the corner and came to a stop in front of a cell. The siren's call was coming from within that cell, calling out to him, drawing him to it.

Nearly trembling with anticipation, Cole pulled the key he had easily lifted from the templar on guard and unlocked the cell door. It swung open to reveal a male elf in his early twenties lying on the damp stone floor, whimpering. The elf's yellow mage robes were dirty, his face was bruised, and his straight black hair hung in lank strands over his thin shoulders, loose strands sticking to his forehead. The rats surrounded him, nipping at his flesh, but the elf didn't seem to notice or care. The elf also didn't seem to notice or care that his cell door was open, and that Cole was standing in the doorway. He was completely oblivious to his presence.

 _Everyone is oblivious to my presence_ , Cole thought with a twinge of misery and soul-wrenching loneliness.

Cole strode right up to the man, completely unnoticed. He bent down to rest his elbows on his knees as he stood balanced on the balls of his feet. His face was inches away from the other man's, though the elf didn't seem to notice him. Cole's eyes ran over the man's emaciated form huddled on the ground. The mage was lying on his side, curled into himself, praying in his lonesome cell with his head bent and hands folded in prayer.

There in the cold and nothingness, Cole watched the mage beg for death, just like all the rest. Cole's head tilted slightly as he studied the elf. This right here was the most painful moment of this man's life. He was beaten, bruised, tortured, helpless, hopeless, and left in a deep, dark hole to rot until the rats were eating at his dead carcass.

The mage suddenly lifted his head, the last words of his prayer falling almost silently from his lips as his eyes met Cole's. Cole's heart leapt as he saw recognition.

The mage could  _see_  him.

The elf's eyes were staring right at him with confusion, weariness, fear, and pain. So much pain.

"You can see me," Cole stated quietly, his relief palpable. He suddenly didn't feel so alone.

"Who… who are you?" the mage said without emotion, his lips cracked and chapped from dehydration.

"My name is Cole." His voice was raspy from none use. He hadn't spoken since the last one.

The elf's gaunt face was apathetic as he sat up, though Cole remained kneeling in front of him on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees.

"What are you doing here?" the mage asked, though it didn't seem like he particularly cared to know the answer.

Cole was silent for a long moment. "I came because you can see me."

The elf stared at him with dead eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Cole reached under his leather vest and drew a wicked looking dagger from its ebony sheath. It was an ornate blade with an elaborate brass hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head.

The elf's eyes fixed blankly upon the dagger in his hand. "Are you… are you going to kill me?" the elf asked in a small voice.

"I think so. Yes."

The elf's expression remained eerily calm, but his eyes turned questioning. "Why?"

"I'm… fading away," Cole confessed solemnly. "I can feel myself becoming immaterial… unreal." Cole's expression was apologetic, his eyes somber. "I have to do this. I'm sorry."

The mage released a ragged breath of acceptance. "Oh… okay."

His eyes lowered and stared fixed upon the ground for a moment before they looked up at Cole again with something akin to serenity. "It won't hurt anymore?"

Cole's eyes remained locked with his. "No, it won't hurt anymore," he promised. "I'll take the pain away."

The elf swallowed hard. "Will you… will you make it quick?"

Cole nodded slowly.

The elf's head bowed and his hands clasped as he said a final prayer. When he was done, his head remained bent, but his hands fell limply into his lap.

Cole leaned forward, his heart thumping madly in his chest. "Look into my eyes…"

The mage's head lifted, slowly, so slowly. When his eyes finally met Cole's, they were filled with weary relief and peaceful acceptance. "I'm ready to go to the Maker's side."

"Thank you," Cole whispered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger, his pulse erratic.

The blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness of the cell a second before Cole buried it in a smooth upward strike into the heart of the mage. Blood gurgled in the elf's throat before spilling out of the corners of his mouth to roll in lines down the sides of his mouth and chin. Cole stared down into his wide eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him.

The mage collapsed forward into Cole's arms and the knife was gently pulled free, releasing a flow of blood that stained his yellow robes crimson. Cole held the mage close, waiting for the spasms to stop, watching the final spark of life leave his eyes before gently allowing the limp body to sink to the floor.

Cole immediately stumbled and fell back against the cell wall clutching the blood soaked dagger in his hand, his bloody knuckles white around the hilt of the blade as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't stop looking at those eyes, staring off into nothing.

Cole cradled his head on his knees and rocked back and forth.

 _Murderer_.

That's what they called him – both the mages and the templars of the Tower. But he didn't see it that way. He wasn't taking their lives away from them. He was freeing them, granting them a swift end, rather than the eventual prospect of Tranquility or execution by the templars.

He wasn't acting selflessly though, Cole knew. He felt as if he were fading away, lacking a connection to the world, and the killings somehow strengthened it. They made him feel  _alive_. He thrived on the adrenaline, the blood rushing through him when he pushed his blade into a mage's chest, seeing the gratitude in the mage's eyes as they stared up at him, silently thanking him. Each time he looked into their eyes, he saw recognition reflected in them.

They  _saw_  him. Truly  _saw_  him.

In those moments before he granted them freedom, he was the most important thing in their entire world. Those moments reduced the cold emptiness in his chest and the loneliness chilling his veins. It made him feel a part of the world, rather than an insignificant speck floating in and out of existence.

_You can't keep doing this._

Cole continued to rock back and forth as the thought echoed in his mind. But killing like this… it felt…  _good_. It left him burning with life force and feeling real, vital, and alive. And that's what he needed most - to feel alive. He wanted it, needed it, with a desperation that reached the very marrow of his bones.

_You need to stop._

Cole lifted his head and took slow and deliberate breaths as he watched the blood oozing out of the hole he'd made in the mage's chest. It was red - dark, wet, glistening crimson on the stone floor.

Blood red… it was his favorite color.

He liked blood. Liked the red color, liked the coppery smell, and the feel of it between his fingers. Blood was life. Blood was power. He could see the allure of why mages turned to blood magic.

_You need to stop._

Cole steeled himself as he rose to his feet. He would resist the siren's call next time, even though it might mean he would cease to exist in this world.

Cole left the cell and locked it behind him. He moved swiftly through the dungeons to where the templar guard was sleeping beside the door that led to the higher levels of the Tower. Cole easily returned the key and washed his dagger and his hands in a bucket of water before sheathing his blade.

For a moment he considered going up to the Tower to steal some food and watch the mages as he typically did, but decided against it. Instead, he turned and started making his way back to the catacombs where he lived.

Cole was making his way to the other side of the dungeons when he turned a corner and came to a stop at the end of a long hallway that was lined with cells that held some of the most dangerous mages. He saw eight armored templars at the end of the hallway throwing someone into a cell. Cole's head cocked to the side as he surveyed the templars struggling to keep the lone prisoner from escaping the cell.

Cole's eyes glistened with interest in the shadows beneath the shaggy bangs that hung in his eyes. He should retreat and take the longer route to the catacombs, he knew, but his feet remained rooted. He couldn't help but be curious. He'd never seen so many templars drag down a single mage.

"Careful," Templar One warned the others. "This one knows how to conjure fire and ice as well as electricity and earth. She's dangerous."

Templar Two snorted contemptuously. "I'd like to see her try to-"

A fist came flying out of the cell and slammed into Templar Two, sending him flying backwards into the metal bars of the cell behind him.

"Sweet blood of Andraste!" Templar One gasped as he watched Templar Two sink to the floor, knocked unconscious by the single blow. "I thought we bound her hands with Mage's Bane-" A Stonefist suddenly slammed into the side of his head and Templar One fell to the ground, the loud crack of his skull as it collided with the stone floor echoing in the hallway, reaching even Cole's ears.

"How is she able to use magic?! She should be entirely drained of mana?!" Templar Three shouted as he unsheathed his sword when a knee came up to ram into his family jewels. Templar Three grunted in pain while he doubled over, cupping himself as he fell sideways to the ground.

Templar Four swiftly performed a Cleanse to purge the area of hostile magic, while Templar Five rushed forward, but became encased in a block of ice before he could reach the cell.

Templar Four's eyes widened in fear. "I used a Cleanse! She couldn't have been unable to use magic for-" His words were cut off as he was suddenly lifted into the air by an invisible force before being slammed back down to the ground, like a ragdoll, as though pummeled by a great fist.

"Telekinesis!" Templar Six shouted. "She's a Force Mage!"

Templar's Six and Seven jumped together to overpower the prisoner, but their bodies instantly fell to the floor, seizuring and spasming, as jolts of electricity shot through them.

"Andraste's great flaming ass! Lock her up! LOCK HER UP!" Templar Seven shouted before a spell of Horror hit him causing terrifying visions to rend his mind, leaving him stunned.

Templar Eight rushed towards the cell but a Spirit Bolt shot out of the cell toward him. Templar Eight spun and avoided it before launching himself at the unseen prisoner inside the cell. Cole could hear the grunts and scuffle of a fight going on inside of the cell followed by a loud cry of pain by a male voice and then a loud crack of what could only be a fist slamming into bone.

"You bitch!" Cole heard a male voice bark inside the cell before there was a loud crash, of what could only be a body being thrown against a stone wall.

Cole watched Templar Eight limp out of the cell, cradling a heavily bleeding arm and sporting two black eyes and a busted nose before slamming the cell door shut with a loud and ominous clang. Templar Eight fumbled with a large ring of iron keys before sticking the one he wanted into the lock and sliding it into place.

Two small hands suddenly reached through the bars to grab his armor before yanking him forward and slamming his head into the metal bars. Templar Eight slumped to the floor in a heap.

The prisoner's hand was reaching between the bars and was twisting the key to unlock the cell, when Templar Seven recovered from the Horror spell and stepped up to the bars and slammed the hilt of his blade between the bars into the cell. There was a loud grunt followed by what sounded like a body falling to the ground.

Cole watched, astounded, as the templars struggled to their feet and revived their fallen comrades with health potions. The eight templars stood and limped away towards where Cole was hiding at the end of the hallway, each sporting numerous injuries.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay, André," Cole heard Templar Seven say to Templar Eight. "You usually like having you're way with the women. You know, teach them a lesson about authority."

Templar Eight cradled his arm as he shook his head. "That one's not pretty enough to tempt me, especially knowing the fight she would put up. I'd have to beat her into submission, and even then I don't think she would submit. I'd probably just end up killing her. Too much trouble."

Templar Three snorted. "You've got that right. She's a bloody she-devil, she is! She nearly scratched my eyes out dragging her down here!"

Templar Five nodded in agreement. "Trouble is the best way to describe that bitch. Though, I wonder if the drapes match the carpet? I've never seen hair that color before."

There were a few snickers at that remark. As they drew closer to where Cole was hiding, one templar lifted his head, looking straight at Cole. Cole sucked in a sharp breath, expecting to see recognition in his eyes. But the man saw through him and soon looked away.

The templars drew impossibly close and Cole stayed where he was, nervously holding his breath as they drew even closer. He felt immaterial, as if he were made of the same substance as the shadows. When they reached him, however, they did what most people did: they walked around him, completely oblivious to him. It was never a sure thing, and Cole always half expected that someone might see him. Half hoped, even.

Once the templars were out of sight, Cole turned his attention to the cell that was at the end of the long hallway. Fascinated, Cole moved on silent feet toward the cell of the prisoner that had easily taken on eight armed templars. He moved silently down the dark corridor, his footfalls muted against the grimy stone floor. Moments later, he came to an abrupt halt in front of the metal bars to the prisoner's cell.

The cold, swirling emptiness in his chest froze for a second as his eyes collided with a young woman, no more than eighteen, sitting on the floor with her back against the grimy wall and her arms resting on her bent knees.

Cole's gaze traveled over her, assessing her with utter curiosity. The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. How could he not? It was a thick, heavy, untamed mass of curls that were a shocking fiery red color that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. The vibrant crimson color of her hair contrasted richly with her sun-kissed skin, her smooth complexion sprinkled with light freckles, a healthy glow to her features. There was a bruise on her cheek that was a terrible black and dark purple and she sported a busted lip, but her lips were full and ripe and so dark a red they almost matched her hair.

His eyes trailed lower. She was not dressed in robes as he imagined, but in coppery chainmail, with black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. She had a tall, slender figure that was only accentuated by the figure-hugging armor she wore. She looked strong and tough, like a girl who fought as easily as she breathed.

The girl lifted her head to the ceiling and exhaled heavily, wearily, but surprisingly not in defeat.

 _She doesn't belong here_ , Cole immediately thought and was surprised by the force behind it. She looked too young and too bright to be here… in this place… a place full of nothing but darkness, hopelessness, blood and death.

The girl's head suddenly turned sharply toward him and Cole found himself staring into the deepest most mesmerizing blue-green eyes he'd ever seen.

Cole stilled, his body rigid with shock and disbelief as those arresting orbs stared him dead in the eyes beneath a thatch of charcoal lashes.

"I know you're there," the girl said in a low voice, answering his unspoken question, her eyes sharp with keen intelligence.

Cole felt tension coil within him as she stared right at him, a tightly wound knot. His world came to a standstill as a single thought ran frantically through his mind:  _Did she see me?_

"Come out of the shadows," she stated firmly, the authority in her voice enough to rival that of the Knight-Commander, despite her few years.

For a long moment Cole did nothing. He stood perfectly still, cloaked in shadow, staring numbly the girl. The shock of finding someone who could see him was so considerable that he felt the effects of it deep within himself.

The girl's head tilted slightly, her eyes locked with his, refusing to release him.

 _Aquamarine_ , Cole thought as he stared into them,  _like gemstones_.

Cole's eyes closely followed her arm as it lifted in front of her and watched as she drew upon the Fade. Part of Cole wondered if the girl would use her magic on him. Would she conjure fire? What would that be like? Could she kill him?

But she didn't try to kill him. Instead, she summoned a flame that hovered a few inches above the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across her face.

Something within him shifted as he stared at her. Now, as he studied her, he could see that there was a light inside her that shone like a beacon, bright and warm like a welcoming fire on a cold night. He could feel it then; inside him. And then, for a fleeting instance he could  _see_  it too. The light in her hand and the light that seemed to be shining from within her stretched out across the cell and seeped into his skin, making him feel warmth for the first time since… since he could remember.

Irresistibly impelled, Cole stepped closer toward her, toward the warmth, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars.

Cole watched her eyes flicker with new emotions as he moved out of the comfort and safety of the cold, dark shadows that surrounded him and into the warm, bright light she cast.

Now that he was visible to her, he expected to see fear in her eyes. They always looked at him with fear. But there was no fear in this girl's eyes, though there was sudden suspicion and distrust reflected in those brilliant blue-green orbs.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded, her voice direct and challenging, a blood red curl falling over her eyes that were impaling him with such a severe look that it stole his breath away.

Cole could do nothing but stare at her, unblinking and dumbfounded. He felt like the world was collapsing around him. His mind was unable to comprehend just how this girl was able to see him. She was neither weak nor praying for death. She was neither hopeless nor consumed with defeat and despair. This girl was strong and fierce and would never give up trying to escape, he could see it right there in her eyes.

_So then how… how can she see me?_

**Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Mad World_  by Michael Andrews. The opening words of the book Dragon Age: Asunder are: " _I am the Ghost of the Spire_. It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind." I thought I should give a little salute and tribute to David Gaider. There are also a few other lines taken from the book. For example, the description of Cole's blade is the same as in the book since we will most likely see it in the Dragon Age 3 game and I thought you guys might like to read the original description of it. Also, when Cole says, "Look into my eyes…" that is a line Cole says multiple times in the book right before he kills someone. It is a line he will most likely say in the third game.  You can also find this story on FanFiction.


	2. Ember

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls_

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew_

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you_

_In my arms lies Eternity_

_\- Andraste 14:11_

A low, sinister feminine chuckle echoed within the prison cell as a young human woman watched the eight templars flee from her like frightened vermin. They limped away, a few still groaning in pain from the damage she'd inflected upon them, each holding either a black eye, an injured limb, or a pair of damaged testacles. Her eyes gleamed from beneath her lashes as she watched the templars from behind the metal bars, priding herself on the destruction she'd left in her wake.

She dragged her thumb across her split lip, removing the blood that had accumulated there. Her thumb lingered on the cut in her bottom lip and her lips curved dangerously as she listened to the conversation the fleeing templars were having.

So, the little templar named André liked raping imprisoned female mages who couldn't fight back, did he?

While she knew nothing about men - having never even been kissed - she wasn't ignorant to the atrocities a man could inflict upon a woman. But no man would ever rape her.

They'd die first.

If the little templar dared to try and put his hands on her, he would meet the Maker slowly, painfully, begging for mercy. Despite the mana draining bars that caged her, she would pull everything she could from the Fade and unleash it upon him.

She would destroy him.

And she would smile while she did it.

But the templars weren't coming back. She could hear their footsteps getting fainter and fainter. She heard the slam of heavy doors, the bolts crashing into place, leaving her alone with only her thoughts and the rats to keep her company.

Ember breathed in steadily, then out again as she heard nothing at all except the cries of the tormented and deranged that echoed around her.

Her eyes narrowed on the bars in front of her face and she turned away from them with a look of disgust. She moved across the small cell to the side wall. The hobble made it difficult. Her leg hurt where one of those bastards had kicked her. But she did not think it was broken – it took her weight when she tested it. It was a mere flesh wound.

She'd suffered far worse in her few years.

With a wince she lowered her bruised and battered body to the filthy floor that stunk of mold, blood, and death. How many had died in this exact spot? She wondered with a grimace of revulsion.

A huge brown rat scurried across the floor, running toward the darkness on the other side of her cell.

 _What a wonderful way to celebrate your eighteenth birthday_ , Ember thought with a snort as she adjusted on the dirty floor to press her back against the stone wall, heavy exhaustion following in the wake of blood-pumping adrenaline. The sad thing was this wasn't even the worse birthday she'd ever had. Her birthdays had always been cursed. The worst days of her life had all been on her birthday.

Her hand came up to rub tenderly at her throbbing and swollen jaw. Her face ached where one of the templars had hit her. There was blood and a piece of broken tooth in her mouth. She spat it out on the floor.

With a weary sigh, she bent her knees and rested her elbows on them. A faint tremble shook her. Nerves and stress. She hadn't slept in days. Hadn't eaten a real meal in twice that time – a loaf of bread stretched between. They wouldn't feed her much here, she knew. But she didn't expect to be here long. She'd escaped jail cells in the past and she would do so again.

 _Although, this time might take a little more finesse_ , she thought glumly as she eyed the magically enhanced bars that imprisoned her.

She'd heard stories of this place – the dungeons of the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux were feared by every mage in Thedas. The bars here drew on a mage's mana, draining it to nothing, like a leech sucking the blood of its victim. She could feel it, feel the magic they contained reaching out to try and extinguish her power.

Ember blew a red springy curl away from her face as she looked around her prison cell. This place was dark and bitter cold and wet with dried blood splashed across the dirty stone floor. A foul mix of odors stung her nostrils - rot, urine, blood, and decay. There was nothing in the cell except for a dirty chamber pot in the corner.

Her heart sank. She was locked away, caged, trapped in a small metal box. She was left to rot in a grimy, cramped space, wrapped in almost total darkness.

An airless void rose up, threatening to choke her. She prayed to the Maker that this would not be her grave.

 _No_. Her head shook adamantly, dark crimson curls whipping around her face.  _I will not die here. I am destined for something… greater_.

Ember nodded resolutely. She would escape this dismal place, or die trying. And once she escaped, she would pay a little visit to the person that had betrayed her to the templars. Her eyes glittered maliciously at the thought. She didn't run from her problems. She ran through them, like a battering ram. And there was no question that the one who'd betrayed her trust was a problem, one she would deal with in time.

Her gaze fell, her head tilted. The rat was back, nibbling on the laces of her thigh-high leather boot. Despite herself, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a smirk. This one was bold, fearless, reckless. She liked it. It reminded her of herself, a kindred spirit. She wondered how the little guy felt being locked away in this place, not free to roam the wild and overgrown forests just outside the White Spire Tower?

Feeling a vulnerability she rarely felt, Ember wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold was biting, seeping through her coppery chainmail armor, down into her skin, and aching in her bones. She'd dreaded being locked up like this ever since her eighth birthday when she'd set the family barn on fire with only her hands.

Her parents had tortured her, maimed her, left deep and lingering scars on her body and mind. But they couldn't break her and when they couldn't, her parents turned her over to the templars without a backward glance, thankful to be rid of her and her cursed magic. But she didn't go quietly with the templars.

Not willingly. Never willingly.

Even as a child she was too unruly, her will too strong, her spirit to wild. Even at the age of eight, Ember knew she'd rather die than be caged, than be forced into obedience, than be the servant of another's will.

After her parents' betrayal, she'd managed to escape from the clutches of the templars. As soon as she broke free of them she ran, she ran as fast as her little legs could take her, and she's been running ever since.

 _Apostate_. That was the name they branded her with. But that detested title never stopped her from tempting fate - or making it obey her will.

She'd run from her home in the solitary country of Orlais to a small village in Ferelden.

Lothering.

It was by pure chance that she'd come across a friendly family of warriors and apostates. A gentle man named Malcolm Hawke and his wife Leandra and their three children Marian, Carver, and Bethany had taken her in, protecting her, saving her. She'd been only a child of eight summers when she'd met the Hawke family, while Marian had been eighteen and the twins sixteen.

Malcolm and Bethany had taught her about magic. They taught her how to wield it and an arsenal of spells. But they taught her how to hide her magic from recognition, to keep her identity as an apostate hidden. Carver had made her run for miles, building her muscles by making her engage in strenuous physical exercises. Leandra had taught her how to be a lady. The kind noblewoman had educated her and taught her poise, grace, and charm. She also taught her how to act with manners when out in public and to be able to mingle effortlessly in social settings and high society.

But it was Marian that had instantly captured Ember's undying admiration. Hawke was strong, brilliant, charismatic, and beautiful. She could make anyone laugh, even her enemies. The woman could pick any lock with her eyes closed and lift a man's wedding ring without him knowing it. But the charming woman would become a terrifying foe when she unsheathed her twin daggers that were always strapped to her back. That woman was fierce in battle, glorious in her wrath, and unstoppable once she actually put her mind to something.

That was the kind of woman Ember wanted to be. A woman who was strong - strong enough to ensure her own freedom from the templars and anyone else who dared try and imprison her.

After four years of living with the Hawke family, Ember had become a deadly mage. But she refused to use her magic, except for training in secret or when she absolutely had to when her life depended on it. Instead, she used her mana to hide her magic and she'd gotten so good at it that not even a templar could detect she was a mage, even if he was standing right next to her. She preferred it that way. She refused to be detected and taken again, to be locked up, to be anything but her own keeper.

No one would ever rule over her. No one.

Wanting to be able to protect herself without having to use magic, Ember had forced herself to become a rogue. Hawke trained her, and trained her well. She learned to wield blades and a bow, spending every second of every day perfecting her skills until she was better than any rogue.

But it all came crashing down on her twelfth birthday.

Ember and Malcolm had gone to Redcliffe Village to meet an old friend of Malcolm's for potions and runes, and a staff for a birthday present. Teagan Guerrin was the Bann of Rainesfere and the younger brother of Arl Eamon, and Ember did not trust him with their secret. But Malcolm trusted him, assured her that the man would not reveal their identities as apostates. Despite her instincts telling her not to go, Ember had trusted Malcolm's judgment.

But he was wrong. So wrong.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed them that day to a templar named Ser Perth. Ember and Malcolm fought them, fought being captured and enslaved. Malcolm, who had become like a father to her, had sacrificed himself so that she could escape. He would never see his family again, all because of his friend's betrayal.

Frightened and running for her life, Ember dared not return to the safety of the Hawke cabin, fearing she would lead her templar pursuers to them, endangering them. So, she'd run as fast as she could to Denerim and stole aboard the first ship she could find.

After days at sea, raiders on a notorious ship called the Siren's Call had attacked. An infamous pirate captain named Isabela attacked the cargo ship Ember was hiding on with cannon fire and without mercy. Ember had abandoned ship, barely escaping the notorious Queen of the Eastern Seas, and swam to the nearest island called Seheron.

It was on the island that she'd met the legendary Fog Warriors. The Fog Warriors were a group of freedom fighters native to the jungles of Seheron. They sought to make the island independent from both Qunari and Imperium rule. They come to her silently amid a deep and unnatural fog that had magical properties and offered her their protection and allegiance. She'd joined their ranks, painting her armor and skin a pale white, becoming one of them. They educated her on the Qun and taught her their fighting style and new spells. In her time with them, Ember had developed a deep sense of camaraderie with the Fog Warriors. They were strong of will, courageous, independent, bowing to no one. She respected and admired them, proud to call herself one of them.

One day, while patrolling the eastern coast, a strange elf with white hair and strange markings washed up on the shore of the island. Ember's small band of Fog Warriors found him and they nursed him back to health. The moody elf stayed with them for a time. The elf was quiet and kept to himself. He was always brooding and scowling, snapping at those around him like a wounded wolf. But in time they were able to get past his hard exterior and catch a glimpse of the broken soul within.

On her thirteenth birthday a powerful Tevinter magister by the name of Danarius came to the island. He claimed to be the elf's master. The Fog Warriors did not believe in slavery and they refused to let the mage take the elf. Ember fought along side her brothers and sisters in arms. She wielded both magic and daggers. She was an unstoppable force, and for a moment she felt as powerful as Hawke. When the battle had almost been won, Ember had turned to the elf and gave him an assuring smile. It was at that moment that Danarius ordered the elf to kill them.

And the elf did.

Starting with her.

The elf's body had glowed with an eerie white light before he thrust his hand into her chest. She'd felt his hand wrap around her heart and she expected him to rip it from her body. But the elf hesitated, his eyes a deep shade of green agony. He pulled his hand free of her chest but her heart remained within it. He hadn't caused any serious damage, though she'd fallen to the ground, unconscious.

When she'd awakened she'd found the Fog Warriors dead. All of them. The elf had killed every last one of them. Men, women, children. He'd betrayed them. They'd shown him nothing but kindness and he'd betrayed them, slaughtering them all.

All but her, as if Andraste herself was watching over her, protecting her.

Ember lifted her head to stare up at the pitch-black ceiling of her prison cell, her breath leaving her in a heavy, jagged rush. That seemed like a lifetime ago instead of five years. By this point in her short life she was quite familiar with the bitter sting of betrayal and the resulting pain, hatred, and loneliness.

Her family had betrayed her to the templars.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed her and Malcolm Hawke to Ser Perth.

Fenris had betrayed her and the Fog Warriors to Danarius.

And it was a friend's betrayal that had resulted in her recent capture by the templars, and getting thrown into this stinking pit of darkness to deteriorate and wither away until she died.

Ember's blue-green eyes flashed with an internal fire that matched the wildly flaming curls that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. She'd been captured and caged like a wild animal for her crime of being an apostate – a creature cursed by the Maker in the eyes of the templars.

Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ground painfully against each other. The templars had dragged her unwillingly to the White Spire and when she fought back, as her rebellious spirit willed, they beat her. Afterward, as she'd lay beaten and bruised and bloodied on the marble floor of the foyer of the Spire, she'd cursed them, laughing maniacally while she did it. They'd beaten her again until she'd lost consciousness. She'd been awakened by their manhandling of her as they dragged her reluctantly to this horrid dungeon - a black pit from which they said she would never emerge. They'd dragged her, kicking and screaming, clawing and biting, to be locked away in this tiny cell encrusted with filth and rot all because these templars feared what she was capable of.

 _And they should fear_ , Ember mused darkly.  _For I am capable of unimaginable things, things they couldn't even dream of._

Ember's mind came skidding to a halt as the hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She couldn't escape the feeling she was suddenly being watched. Her body tensed and instinctively her hand went to her belt for the dagger that was no longer there. Her eyes searched the gloom of her cell, meeting nothing but darkness. Someone was there. She knew it, could feel it. Her instincts were never wrong.

The shadows in front of her cell seemed darker, somehow… and she felt something within them staring at her.

"I know you're there," Ember stated in a low and stiff voice, speaking into the shadows that lined her cell.

"Come out of the shadows," she commanded firmly, the authority ringing in her voice.

For a long moment there was nothing. No sound. No air. Nothing but darkness.

Ember's eyes widened in alarm and her heart slammed against her ribcage as a tall, dark, ominous figure materialized out of the darkness right in front of her cell, seeming to emerge from the shadows themselves, as if they lived and breathed them.

Though she forced herself to appear calm, her self-preservation instincts had taken hold. Refusing to let apprehension overwhelm her, Ember kept her eyes locked on the figure shrouded in shadow as she lifted her hand in front of her and drew upon the Fade.

Gathering her magic, something she rarely did, Ember reached her mind across the Veil and summoned a shimmering orb of fire into the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across the walls of her cell, stretching across the stone floor to the metal bars.

It was a young man, she realized as she squinted to see into the darkness that surrounded him. He looked to be in his early twenties. Shaggy blonde locks fell over his forehead and into his eyes, causing dark shadows to slash across his sharply chiseled features, highlighting his smooth alabaster skin, harshly carved cheekbones, and long and straight nose that was in perfect conformity with the rigid line of his strong masculine jaw.

Ember's eyes raked the mysterious young man while he appeared to appraise her in return. The young man was tall, over six feet, and whipcord lean, lanky even, and built from solid muscle. Her eyes fell to his slim hips and tightly corded arms. He resembled a lean ivory statue made up of chiseled lines and sharp angles. His mouth was like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory, his skin so exquisitely white as to seem almost transparent.  _He_  was almost transparent, she thought, thinking at any moment the shadows that surrounded him would swallow him whole and cloak him in complete darkness.

Ember shook herself, aware she was guilty of staring. Yet, this odd stranger held an unexplainable captivation. He was no templar or mage, she knew, since he wore no armor or robes. He wore worn leathers that looked like they badly needed washing.

 _If he isn't a mage or a templar, then who is he?_ Ember thought. _What is he doing down here? Why is he standing in front of my cell? What does he want with me?_

Realizing her hand was shaking from her unsettled nerves, Ember placed the flame in front of her and it hovered just above the ground. She lifted her head to watch the young man step closer toward her, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars. With her heart knocking against her chest wall, she slowly lifted her eyes to his face and gasped softly. He was staring at her so keenly, with such unblinking intensity, she felt as though he was staring into her soul.

And his eyes… Maker… his eyes were unlike anything she'd ever seen before. They were two icy blue orbs, so pale in color they were almost translucent, but deep as forever and incredibly intense. They were…  _unnatural_. Shadows filled them, lived in them, whispering for her to peer closer into them.

Haunted, haunted eyes.

A cold worm of dread coiled in her belly. It was then that she noticed that there was an elusiveness about him, something odd, mysterious, and otherworldly.

Something dangerous.

Something that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end in warning.

Her instincts were  _never_  wrong.

"Who are you?" she managed to say despite the icy chill of warning coating her veins.

The young man visibly tensed at her words. There was a furtive tension to the way he stood, as if he would retreat into the shadows at any second. But he didn't retreat. He just stood there, as though he didn't understand the language she spoke.

_Why isn't he saying anything? Why is he just standing there? Can he not understand me? Does he not speak my language? Or is he deaf? Perhaps he's mentally ill or unstable?_

For several heartbeats, Ember didn't know what to do or say. The silence that lingered was deafening. Unable to stand another second of the unbearable tension, she repeated, "Who are you?"

"You can see me." His voice was raspy, as if from lack of use, and it quavered with shocked disbelief.

Ember said nothing, but her eyes remained locked on his as he slowly bent down to crouch low on the balls of his feet in front of her cell. His elbows rested on his knees, hands dangling between his legs.

"You  _can_  see me," the young man repeated, more confidently this time.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  _Is this a trick? Some game the templars are playing with me?_ Warily, Ember moved on her hands and knees closer to the bars, closer to him. The floating flame she'd cast followed in her wake, as if pulled by some invisible thread. She tried not to let it get to her, but it unnerved her how his eyes closely followed her every move.

Ember swallowed hard as she sat cross-legged in front of the bars of her cell. Her heart leaped into her throat and she pulled back as the young man suddenly pressed his face into the bars as if he were straining to get closer to her, like a feral wolf that had caught the scent of something he liked.

His eyes caught how she shrank away from him and his head tilted, messy blonde strands falling over one eye to reveal the other. "Are you afraid of me?"

She was a little at that, which was odd because there was little she was afraid of. But this man… there was something about him that was…  _scary_.

"Do I scare you?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts, while he moved to sit on his knees.

Ember forced herself to meet his eyes again that were so deep they seemed like bottomless blue wells reaching into his very soul.

They were not ordinary eyes.

Not human.

Not of this world.

His eyes belonged to something else, somewhere else…

_Is this man real? Does he even exist?_

" _What_  are you?" she breathed, her voice a mere wisp of sound.

His expression shuttered. "I don't know what I am."

Her heart came to a stuttering stop with dismay. "What do you mean you don't know what you are?"

Silence split the air. He said not a word, but he kept those strange eyes keenly focused on her, unwavering and unblinking.

She swallowed hard, her apprehension rising. "Are you here to hurt me?"

The young man said nothing, though his eyes flickered, as if he were debating it.

Panic rose up to choke her. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling tremors of anxiety twisting within her stomach as she became aware of the peril she'd inadvertently stepped into. She couldn't be sure of his intent. His eyes, like his expression, were inscrutable.

"No," he rasped softly after a long pause. "I won't hurt you."

She exhaled a shaky breath of relief and averted her gaze.

She felt much better when she wasn't looking in those eyes.

"Will you help me escape, then?"

"No."

Her eyes snapped to his and narrowed. "And why not?"

Long pale fingers tapped the lock. "This door can only be opened with a key – a key the Knight-Captain keeps on her at all times."

"Lovely," Ember deadpanned, brushing a spiraling red curl from her face with a huff. "Can you lift the key from the Knight-Captain?"

He shook his head and his blonde bangs whipped side to side across his forehead and eyes. "Evangeline de Brassard will not be easily deceived. She's attentive. She would know."

He shifted from his knees to sit on the ground, cross-legged like her. He sat right in front of her, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. They were close, his right knee almost touching hers through the bars. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her, pushing back the blackness that threatened to consume them both.

His head tilted, eyes glittering with intrigue in the light the flame cast. "What's your name?"

"Ember," she answered softly. "Ember Laurent."

"Ember." He said her name slowly, as if testing it on his tongue, and the rasping syllables caused a warm tingle of something nameless to trickle down her back.

Unnerved by her reaction to the sound of her own name coming from his lips, Ember lifted her chin and forced her voice to come out even, "You are no mage, nor are you a templar." It was not a question.

"I am neither," he confirmed.

She nodded slowly, her fingers drumming on her knees as she thought. "If you are not a mage and not a templar, then what are you doing down here?"

He hesitated, as if considering whether to answer her or not. "I live in the catacombs beneath the tower."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "But what are you doing here in the dungeons?"

He said nothing, but his eyes shifted away from hers, as if in shame. "I come here sometimes," he replied in a low voice, keeping his gaze from hers. "I visit the tower sometimes for food and other things. I like to watch them - the mages and the templars."

One red eyebrow lifted in question. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"No." His pale eyes shifted back to hers. "They never see me, never remember me."

Her face pinched with confusion and unease. His answer was strange, very strange, just like him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

For a moment he froze, his dark lashes lowering to half mast his crystal clear blue eyes. "I am the Ghost of the Spire." The words came out like a confession and he watched her closely, as if scrutinizing her reaction.

Ember rolled her eyes. "There's no such thing as ghosts," she scoffed.

He shrugged carelessly. "A ghost is simply a dead man lost on his way to the Maker's side, forever adrift in a land of shadow," he answered simply.

She snorted. "And… that's what you are? You're…  _dead_?" Ember murmured with incredulity.

Curious despite herself, Ember gripped a metal bar in one hand and she pressed herself against the bars as she reached forward through the bars with her other hand to touch him. She expected her hand to go straight through him, expecting him to be the apparition he claimed to be.

But it didn't.

Her palm pressed flat against his chest, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his worn leathers, was a warm torso that was a amalgam of sharp angles and sinewy muscle. She licked her suddenly dry lips as she felt hard muscles flex beneath her fingertips, felt the danger and dormant strength he possessed. Power emanated from him like a life force, raw and uncut—

"Death would explain what I am." Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low, husky murmur so close to her ear, his warm breath licking the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Ember instantly ripped her hand away from his rock-hard chest as if she'd been burned, leaning back from the bars. With her cheeks roasting, she swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat, her response to merely touching him unsettling.

Ember quickly folded her arms in a defensive gesture, trying to hide the rapid beat of her heart, scowling at him as he continued to stare at her coolly, clearly not affected by her touch like she'd been. "You're not dead," she stated firmly, almost accusingly. "You're made of flesh and bone. Just like me."

His eyes were remote and shadowed. "I'm not dead, yet at the same time I don't exist."

She eyed him as if he'd grown two heads. "Are you… a  _crazy_  person?"

The slightest quirk of his mouth told her that she amused him. "I don't know." He turned his body slightly away from her, the quirk deepening. "Maybe."

As she studied his side profile a fearful tremble worked its way down her spine as a terrible thought hit her, a thought that scared the blood out of her. "Are you a… demon?"

He paused. After a few heartbeats, his chin turned fractionally toward her. "I am no demon." He faced her again and his low hanging blonde bangs fell across his eyes, shielding them from her view. "I've never seen one before or spoken to one, that I know of. And unless someone can be a demon and have no inkling of it, that just isn't possible. A ghost, however?" He sighed softly. "That I'm not so certain of."

Ember watched him, considering, assessing. After a few silent moments, her body visibly relaxed and a small smile curved her lips. "I believe you."

Her gave her a pointed look, one that held a hint of admonishment. "So easily?"

"You're not a demon," Ember stated confidently. "I can sense spirits. I would know the difference."

"Would you?" he inquired, curious. "Demons are masters of deception."

Her chin lifted. "I'm a spirit medium. I would know if you were lying," she replied assuredly. "I can sense spirits and demons, and I don't sense you as such."

Despite her words, Ember bit her bottom lip in discomfort. Could she trust this man? Was he a clever demon and found a way to hide his true nature from her? Could she trust in her ability to tell the difference?

Her eyes flickered up to lock onto his, questioning and searching. "So… if you're not a mage and not a templar, not a spirit and not a demon… then… then what are you?"

Anguish shadowed his face, and those absurdly long lashes lowered over his eyes. "Lost," he answered desolately, and his low rasping voice echoed with a deep-seated loneliness that tugged at something vulnerable inside of her.

Ember sucked in a sharp breath, her heart aching, as she stared into a tableau of heart-wrenching sadness and despairing loneliness reflected in those fathomless icy pools set in a pale, grief-stricken face.

Maker, she'd never seen anyone look so alone, so sad, so forlorn - a lost soul drifting amongst the living.

That harrowing expression was hard to look at and Ember had to close her eyes to escape it. She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. When her eyes opened, he was gone, as if swallowed up by the shadows.

Ember stared blankly into the darkness in front of her cell and was about to call out to him when she realized she didn't even know his name.

 **Author's Note** : In the book Dragon Age: Asunder, Rhys is the main character along with Cole. Rhys is the estranged mage son of the Fereldan senior enchanter Wynne from Dragon Age Origins. Rhys is a Spirit Medium, someone who can sense spirits and demons. This ability allows him to see and remember Cole. My Inquisitor has the same gift. Oh, and just to give you a visual, Ember looks like Merida from the Disney movie Brave, except that she has more green in her eyes and her hair is a dark red and not orange.


	3. Hunger Pains

_For you are the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only yours to give_

_\- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

The White Spire Tower was magnificently built with stone and marble, decorated in typical Orlesian style, in ostentation of Orlais' wealth, consisting of lush crimson carpeting and adorned with tapestry of gold, crimson, and velvet. There were many levels in the great tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces, the scent of magic and parchment in the air along with the stench of oppression. The tower was swarming with people. It was always swarming with people. The sounds of laughter, debate, lessons being taught, and spells being cast echoed throughout the halls.

The first few floors of the tower's lower chambers were typical for any Circle Tower. There was a great hall, mage and templar quarters, a harrowing chamber, studies, classrooms, multiple libraries, and kitchen stores. There were also armories, giant chambers filled with enough equipment and weapons to outfit an army of templars.

Cole moved unnoticed and unseen through the shadows of the lower chambers. Both mages and templars alike moved unconsciously out of his path, as if instinctively threatened by what was approaching. They were unaware of his presence, yet subconsciously they could detect the approaching danger that lurked in the shadows. The rogue kept to the shadows that hugged him like a mother reunited with her child, wrapping around him and cloaking him in their darkness. It was… comforting. Familiar.

Whispers of lyrics echoed in his head as he moved through the crowd of people and he shoved them away, not wanting to listen to them. The whispers were louder up here. That was one of the reasons why he rarely came up here, preferring the silence the bowels of the tower provided.

A young elven girl walked by, a terrible black and blue bruise surrounding her right eye. The girl winced as she gently touched and inspected her injured eye.

_Throbbing. Aching. Hard to see out of it. I didn't know. They looked so good. I didn't know they were only for the templars. They smelled so good. Just like Mamae used to make. Oatmeal and raisin, my favorite. They reminded me of home, of the Dalish. It hurts. I didn't know. I wouldn't have eaten one if I'd have known mages weren't allowed to have them._

Cole shoved the whispers back, not wanting to hear them. After a few more steps, a templar walked by, rubbing the back of his neck and cringing.

_Cold sweat. Head pounding. Itchy. Hard to breathe. Shaking. I just need a taste, just a taste to get me through the day. What good are the dwarves if they don't deliver the lyrium on time?_

Cole could sense a person's pain, hear it. It was like listening to a very sad song. It had surprised him yesterday to discover that he couldn't hear Ember's pain. Whether it was because she had none or because he somehow couldn't hear her song, he didn't know.

Sleep had evaded him last night. His nerves had been too rattled, his mind racing with too many thoughts, questions refusing to leave him alone. And when sleep finally found him, it was her that he saw. The girl. The girl that  _saw_  him.

The encounter had left him shaken and confused, but also curious and utterly intrigued. He didn't know how she saw him. Only people in unimaginable pain or wanting death could see him. She was neither, and yet she could see him. Perhaps her being a spirit medium had something to do with it. All he knew was that she could actually  _see_  him. The excitement he felt was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

The question now was whether Ember would remember him. No one remembered him. The few that actually saw him only remembered him for a day or two. Eventually they forgot him. They always did. Would Ember forget him too?

His stomach dropped at the thought. He didn't  _want_  her to forget him. Cole found himself surprised by how desperately he wanted her to remember him. She was a mystery, a wonderful mystery. She was the brightest thing he'd ever seen. She had sparked a fascination in him that he knew would not go away. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him.

Her face appeared in his mind's eyes and Cole realized that it would hurt to see her looking at him with her face and eyes glazed over with non-recognition. Now, after meeting her, Cole realized he wanted companionship, and in a way, he almost craved it. She burned like a beacon, one he could not resist revisiting.

Cole moved purposefully now, impatient to return to the dungeons, somewhat startled by how badly he wanted to see the girl again. He wanted to see recognition in her eyes as she looked at _him_ , wanted to hear her voice as she spoke to  _him_ , wanted to feel the whisper of the soothing magic she exuded as it caressed his skin. He found it strange that just thinking of her made his pulse pound in eagerness. The only thing that had a similar effect was when he went to the dungeons to use his knife to free a mage from their pain.

A small explosion pulled Cole from his thoughts. A senior enchanter quickly doused the resulting fire with a Winter Grasp spell. Once the fire was put out, the senior enchanter began scolding her young apprentice who couldn't have been older than ten-years-old.

As ever, Cole felt the darkness living and breathing within him. It seethed in his mind, dancing against the back of his eyes. Just waiting for him to call it forth… and to devour him. There was power in the darkness. If he would just give in to it…

No. He would never dare to use the full measure of that power.

Still, the darkness seemed to hover, waiting, taunting. His dagger cleared its sheath before he realized he'd drawn it. He could hear the siren's call, a mage's pain calling out to him to silence it forever. His body began to tremble with the need to use the knife to set them free. Their death would cease their pain and their blood would ensure his continued existence, he was sure of it.

Cole's knuckles turned white around the hilt of his blade as he suppressed the urge to give into the darkness, keeping it from overwhelming him.

He didn't want to lose himself forever.

Cole shook himself and sheathed his dagger. He continued on his way, heading for the kitchen stores. He slipped into a storage room that was full of elven servants bustling about, preparing meals. Cole searched the shelves, unseen in a room full of people. His arm brushed the elbow of a young elven boy and the boy stopped and looked right at him, but the boy saw straight through him. The boy's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he rubbed his elbow, eyes searching but seeing nothing. The boy shrugged and continued with his task.

Cole returned to his task and searched the shelves. Once he found what he was looking for, he headed out. Weaving around the marble columns lining the hall, Cole saw a large fountain in the corner of the large room. The fountain threw up water, covered with a gilt symbol of the Circle of Magi, on the top of which is a statue of the Sword of Mercy – the Templar heraldry that is a stylized representation of a flaming sword – supported by columns of black and white marble. It was meant to serve as a reminder that magic exists to serve mankind, and not to rule over him.

As he drew closer, Cole discovered an old man and a middle-aged woman talking in whispers, huddled behind the fountain, a hidden corner shrouded in darkness to escape the eyes and ears of others. Cole could see them easily though. It was easy to see into something that lived inside you.

Cole recognized the old man as Edmonde, the First Enchanter of the White Spire. He was an old man in his late seventies with a baldhead, only a small band of remaining white hair circling the back of his head. He had to lean on his staff for support, his body bent by age. The woman he did not recognize. She wore a voluminous red robe and a glittering headdress. Her head was held loftily with a golden amulet of the symbol of the chantry hanging around her neck. She had a stately bearing, carrying herself in a graceful and controlled manner.

"You must pick a side," Edmonde whispered.

The woman shook her head. "I cannot take sides. We are all the Maker's creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals."

"The Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the mages have made to reach peace. We need your help, Dorothea."

The woman gave a soft laugh. "It's Justinia now." The woman smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "I've been serving as the Divine of the Chantry for two years now, Edmonde. Haven't you heard?"

The old man smiled, but it was small and sad. "Perhaps you could speak with the Knight-Commander and Lord Seeker Lambert while you're here," the First Enchanter whispered. "They won't listen to me, but perhaps you could make them see reason." The old man sighed wearily. "The templars cannot squeeze the mages into a smaller and smaller box and hope they will disappear."

"The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in his hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."

"Can we afford to be so idealistic, your Holiness?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Idealism is our stock in trade, Edmonde. A religion without ideals is tyranny."

He exhaled heavily. "I spoke with your Right Hand about her recent trip to Kirkwall," he replied. "Sister Nightingale spoke with Grand Cleric Elthina. Elthina seems to think the mage-templar situation in Kirkwall is under control with the help of the Champion, but Sister Nightingale does not seem to think so."

"I have faith in Grand Cleric Elthina," she answered. "We must place our trust in the Maker that Elthina will be able to keep peace in Kirkwall."

Edmonde's bushy white eyebrows snapped together. "And how will she be able to do that if she's dead?" he shot back. "Leliana was attacked by resolutionist blood mages in the Chantry. They grow bolder. It shows the mages in Kirkwall think nothing will be accomplished unless they fight for it. Grand Cleric Elthina is not safe in Kirkwall."

"There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no better death than to take the blow for another."

"But Elthina's death will only end in madness. The Circle of Magi in Kirkwall will most likely rebel. The templars will see their rebellion as a challenge to their authority. A mage rebellion will spark unrest in every circle across Thedas. It would plunge the world into war."

"You give me a lesson when I don't need one," she replied quietly, but firmly. "I am sworn to the Maker's service, but that does not mean I am ignorant of the world."

"Perhaps an Exalted March on Kirkwall is necessary. It might prevent war between the mages and the templars."

"I agree that order must be kept. If there is to be peace, it cannot be accomplished through threats and demands. The lives of many more than just the mages and the templars are at stake."

"I fear that we stand upon the precipice of chaos. The world looks to us for guidance and protection as it fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss."

"We should not allow fear to cloud our reason," she answered softly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come. Let us get back to the evening's festivities. I am the guest of honor tonight, am I not? I think…"

Cole didn't hear anymore as he had moved out of hearing range. He left the tower's lower chambers with his prize, traveling downward through the archives. He continued downward, down the rickety stairwells that led to ancient storerooms that were filled with dust and strange-looking relics. There was also a great mausoleum that stood as silent testament to templars who had died centuries ago. Cole followed the dark tunnels that seemed to go in circles to the area that lay at its heart. The dungeons were there. And so was she.

Unconsciously, his pace quickened, his anticipation mounting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember sat on the cold, wet stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the wall. The small flame she'd summoned from the Fade hovered above the ground beside her, offering a small amount of light and warmth that was a small comfort in this otherwise dark and dismal place.

Her stomach growled painfully, her lips chapped and cracked from dehydration. The templars hadn't even fed her since they'd captured her over a week ago. Her stomach growled again and she winced. She'd never been so hungry. Her stomach curled in on itself as if desperately searching the emptiness there. She felt weak as well. The hunger she could live with, but the weakness scared her. It would slow her down if she was ever given the opportunity to escape or forced to defend herself against the templars, that one named André in particular.

Another sharp pang of hunger hit her and her hand went instinctively to her stomach, her face grimacing. Maker's breath, she didn't want to die like this - starving to death in a black and empty pit, completely and utterly alone, with not a single person in the entire world to mourn her passing.

Ember felt a wave of loneliness. Other than the one who'd betrayed her, she couldn't think of her last friend. The Hawke family and the Fog Warriors perhaps, but she hadn't seen either in so long. She preferred to go about life unnoticed and unseen in order to avoid the templars, avoid being locked away. Though it did have its drawbacks. No one would remember her. No one would go looking for her. She would die down here and no one would know, no one would care. Maker, how long had she allowed fear, desperation, and loneliness to drive her? Feed her? Keep her alive and free, yet alone and isolated from the rest of the world?

Ember stared desolately at the moldy cell wall, her expression glum. She felt rotten with misery. Her mouth was dry, her tongue huge. She felt like a raisin left to dry on a windowsill.

The hours crawled by endlessly. She exhaled heavily in boredom, her breath blowing a bright red curl out of her face. She looked down and curled her finger around a long crimson curl before letting it unravel to her stomach, then repeating the move over and over again. She knew she wasn't a pretty girl, at least not in the common way. Eye-catching was perhaps a more appropriate description for her, mostly due to her hair color. At eighteen, she wasn't very womanly, and probably never would be. She had small breasts and small hips that gave her a youthful figure, and hard muscle from years of living on her own and struggling to survive. Her hair was the one feature about her that was pretty and feminine, and she adored her long red curls.

Once during the four years she'd lived with the Hawke family, Carver had told her that her hair was the prettiest thing about her. He said that she would break his heart if she ever cut it. Unaccustomed to being complimented by boys, unlike Marian, Ember had blushed a bright red at his words and hadn't cut her hair since.

Ember looked up at the stone ceiling wishing she could see the stars. She'd been sleeping under the stars since her eighth birthday when she was forced to live alone and on the run from the templars. Those days she'd felt small, inadequate, scared, and alone.

She felt that way again now.

She hated it.

Here, in the cold and the dark and the nothingness, Ember felt herself slipping. It wasn't right her being there. Her spirit was too wild, her nature to unruly to be locked in a cell away from the stars, the sunshine, open spaces and fresh air. It wasn't right to lose her freedom, the one thing that meant everything to her.

If she wasn't able to escape this time, would there be nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable? Would it be a hangman's noose, a chopping block, or the Right of Tranquility? A cold shiver trickled down her spine at the thought of being made Tranquil. Her vote was for the chopping black. That would get her close enough to a weapon to take and then make her escape.

The hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She felt she was being watched. Her head snapped to the side and her gaze landed on a tall, dark figure standing in front of her cell. Her eyes widened.

 _It's him_.

Her mouth became dry and she could hear nothing but the hammering of her heart.

 _The Ghost of the Spire_.

In the dim light, the young man stood still as a statue in the dirty leathers he wore.

Life had taught her not to trust anyone, and so she didn't. But then she remembered talking to him before. It would be nice to talk to someone. Actually, it would be heavenly to talk to someone.

"It's you," she breathed.

He said nothing. He just kept on staring at her with those haunted eyes from under that mop of unkempt blonde hair that fell across his forehead, highlighting the hard planes of his face. Ember held his stare and forced herself not to look away despite the unsettling intensity she found there. Those eyes unnerved her.  _He_  unnerved her.

"You can blink once in a while. I'll still be here," she muttered, shifting on the ground uncomfortably.

"You can see me." His voice had a particular rasp—the hoarseness of a man who rarely speaks.

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Didn't we have this conversation already?"

"You… remember me?" he asked quietly with shocked disbelief. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to see me again, afraid you'd have forgotten me."

Her lips curled. "I doubt anyone who has ever met you could simply forget you. I know I sure won't," she admitted, then cleared her throat in embarrassment.

He held her gaze for a long second, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile, transforming his face. That smile was so devastatingly attractive that it made her heart lurch.

Ember took a deep breath in an effort at calm. "So… why did you think I'd forget about you?"

"Because no one can see me or remember me," he murmured. "Except you."

"O-Oh," she stammered and quickly cleared her throat. "Does that make me special?"

His eyes lit with some emotion Ember couldn't define. He dropped his gaze from her face and raked her body starting from the tips of her toes. She felt his gaze stop for a long moment at her neck, on her rapidly increasing pulse, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again.

"Yes," he answered in a quiet, scratchy whisper.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was looking at her so intently, with such unblinking and unwavering focus, she felt as though he were reading her mind.

She frowned and looked away.

"You haven't eaten," she heard him say after a long and silent pause and there was genuine concern in his voice, which surprised her. He didn't even know her.

She turned to look at him. "It seems feeding me was at the bottom of the templars' list today. I think it's right after they give the mages massages."

"I have something for you," he said as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "For me?"

He nodded. While he reached into a pack that he'd set on the ground beside him, Ember moved closer to the bars and sat cross-legged in front of him. "What is it?" she asked, curious.

He pulled a red handkerchief out of the pack and handed it to her through the bars. She opened it to find it filled with meat, cheese, and bread.

For a long moment all she could do was stare at the deliciously smelling food in disbelief. He'd gotten this for her? He'd risked being seen and captured by the templars to get her something to eat?

When her mouth could once again form words, her eyes slowly lifted to his. "You… you got this… for me?"

He smiled at her and there was a slight reddening to the paleness of his cheeks. "You're stomach should be as full as your heart," he answered. "In which case, I would have brought more but they would have noticed."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just eat."

Not having to be told twice, Ember began to eat the delicious food he'd brought her and her eyes rolled back in her head at how good it tasted. As she chewed she heard herself moan in delight and was embarrassed at the sound.

"I spoke to your cell," he said casually. "I asked it to open. But it didn't say anything. I don't think it likes me."

Ember paused in her eating to stare at him. He was a strange one, there was no denying that. Yet, Ember couldn't help but find him fascinating. She also couldn't help but find him kind, considerate, intriguing, and attractive with his golden hair flopping messily across his forehead to hang into his eyes in an entirely rakish manner. Not to mention how his depthless blue eyes and raspy voice were doing funny things to her insides, things she'd never felt before.

Once she finished eating she took the canteen he offered her and drank every last drop of the water inside. She sighed with content as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rubbed her nose with her hand, then looked up at him to find him staring at her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "You have no idea how hungry I was."

His expression shuttered. "It's painful. The hunger. No one should feel that kind of hurt."

"Have you?"

He didn't say anything.

After a long stretch of silence, she said honestly, "I'm surprised you returned."

For some reason that seemed to make him think. His eyes looked around before returning to her. "This place is full of old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real."

"Then why did you come back?"

Unyielding, his gaze captured hers in a long glance. "The brightest star in the darkest sky is the most luring."

Ember didn't understand his answer, but she did feel the air suddenly become charged with inexplicable tension, a tension that she was hard-pressed to understand. She could feel a faint stirring deep inside her, a fluttering little pulse that seemed to intensify with each throbbing second. He made her feel as though she couldn't catch her breath.

"Most people fear the White Spire Tower, especially the dungeons," she managed to say into the silence. "Anything to do with magic stirs people's fear."

"Magic doesn't stir my fear."

"No?"

"Magic whispers things to me - music in the mind of strange, far away places."

"You shouldn't fear my magic," she assured him. "I rarely use it, and when I do, my magic serves only that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

His mouth lifted in one corner. "The templars wouldn't be so angry all the time if more mages were like you."

She laughed at that. "On the contrary, they would be furious  _all_  the time. I have a sharp tongue that I forget to curb most of the time, which typically gets me into trouble. If more mages were like me, the templars would be using a Silence for more than just cleansing."

He laughed and so did she, and for a moment they shared a flash of something between them. Friendship, Ember thought. She found herself hoping that were true. She didn't have any friends. It would be nice to have one, especially here.

"It's good to spend time with you," he said quietly with a shy smile.

"It's good to spend time with you too," she answered just as shyly.

The silence pulsed for a beat or two.

"Bye," he said awkwardly before standing and dusting himself off.

Ember blinked in surprise before jumping to her feet. He turned to leave, but she caught his hand through the bars. The moment she touched him, she knew she shouldn't have. The very second she touched him, he turned those eyes on her, looking at her in a way that made her step away from him.

"Don't go," she whispered, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. "Stay with me. Talk to me." There was sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and pleading.

He said nothing. He just stood there like an ivory statue, silently staring at her.

"Please… just for a little while?" she asked softly, hating how desperate and vulnerable she sounded.

For several heartbeats, Ember waited for him to answer. When he didn't, she folded her arms and averted her gaze to stare at the stone wall, utterly mortified at having to beg for a scrap of camaraderie. "I just… I  _hate_  this place. I hate being surrounded by stone. I hate not sleeping under the stars. I hate having nothing to do but wait for a fate they're deciding for me. I hate being locked away for simply being who I am, exactly as the Maker made me. I hate…" She exhaled sharply before finding his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."

"Neither do I," he answered in a low voice that rippled with a loneliness she felt within herself.

He lowered himself back to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.

Ember smiled, relief washing through her at not having to be down in this dark pit all alone. She sat cross-legged on the ground again in front of him, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her.

Her fingers drummed nervously on her knees as they sat in silence, staring at one another. "So…" Her voice cracked and she cleared it. "I told you my name. Why don't you tell me yours?"

He dropped his head and looked at her from under long black lashes. "Cole." His voice was low and hoarse and gentle. The sound of his name made her palms grow warm.

"Cole…" she said his name slowly and he smiled, as if he liked the way she said his name. "Well, Cole, it's very nice to meet you. Though, I must say, this is not a very nice place to meet."

His lips curved up slightly in the corners at that, the beat of her heart reacting oddly to the sight of it.

She bit her bottom lip nervously. "So, tell me, how did you come to be in this place, Cole?"

Cole was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his eyes were somber, tormented. "I arrived in terror. I was dragged through the halls by a templar's rough hands, terrified and bleeding." He paused, as if to collect himself. "I was dragged down here, just like you, to the dungeons. The templars locked me in a cell for the crime of being a mage." Cole hesitated. "There were beatings, worse than beatings. ' _If you tell anyone, I'll say you used blood magic_ '."

"Maker's breath…" she gasped, her heart twisting.

"After what felt like a lifetime of being alone, in the dark and the nothingness, with the rats nibbling at my bruised and bloodied flesh, I prayed over and over again to the Maker for the templars to forget I even existed." He bent his head to hide his eyes, but she could see his pain, felt it herself. "And then… I got my wish. That's exactly what they did."

"You became… invisible?"

He took a moment before answering. "I don't know what I became. But everyone simply… forgot about me."

"When did this happen?"

He shook his head, silky blonde hair moving across his face. "I don't remember when."

Her head tilted. "How did you get out of your cell?"

His eyebrows bunched together, as if he was trying to remember. "I don't remember how I got out."

"Can you still wield magic?"

"No. I… I don't know why not."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"I remember very little." He exhaled softly. "Maybe I am a ghost. Maybe I died there in the darkness, and have simply forgotten how it happened."

"But… but you are no apparition. You are  _real_." Her hand pressed against his chest through the bars to demonstrate her point, and Cole's muscles tightened and clenched under her touch.

"You are warm," she said softly. Her hand slid up his chest to curve around the side of his neck, her fingers pressing against the pulse that was beating there, wildly, almost in tandem with her own racing heart. "You have a pulse."

Her hand trailed slowly down the side of his neck to his collarbone then down the center of his chest to rest over his heart that was hammering wildly against her palm. "You have a heart and it beats within your chest." Her eyes looked up at him and uttered firmly, "You are  _alive_."

His eyes lifted to lock onto hers from beneath wayward strands of gold, blue eyes penetrating, stripping her bare, as if trying to read her every thought.

Suddenly aware that she was still touching him, Ember yanked her hand away from his chest. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she clasped her hands together and pressed them against her stomach, staring down at them. She brought her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. "Maybe… maybe you're a mage who took a spirit into himself?"

"You think I'm possessed by a demon?" When he spoke, there was anger in his voice.

Her head shot up in alarm. "No! Not a demon," she replied urgently. She ran a hand over her red curls, searching for the right words to explain herself. "There was a mage named Wynne who fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden. She almost died in the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold, but a spirit came and saved her. The spirit resides in her and keeps her alive. Maybe… maybe you were taken down here and when death came for you, a spirit saved you too."

There was a long pause before he finally spoke. "Is that what you think I am?"

"Yes. I don't think you're dead. I don't think you're a ghost. I think you're alive. I think you have a special ability that you simply don't understand and haven't mastered yet."

Ember peeked at him sideways from under her lashes, wondering what he thought of that. But Cole wasn't looking at her, he was staring reflectively off to the side, deep in thought.

"Pulled from the Fade and trapped within, or stepped out from the Fade and copied?" he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered to hers. "Which I am, I do not know."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You are quite unsettling at times."

Cole's head suddenly shot up, his body alert and tense. "Templars are coming."

"What?" she gasped in alarm.

"They are coming for him." Cole's eyes suddenly shifted to a cell down the long hallway. "They think he's starving and dying, begging and bloody. Surprise will greet them. He is already free."

Before she could ask him what he meant, the heavy metal door at the other end of the hallway opened and four templars came walking into the dungeons.

"Cole, you need to hide," she whispered urgently. "If they see you, they will kill you."

"They won't see me," he replied calmly, no trace of fear.

"Cole, listen to me. You have to hide.  _Now_. Please, I don't want to see you get hurt," she said firmly, fear in her voice, trying desperately to get him to see reason.

"Vanquish your flame," Cole ordered. "They cannot know the bars do not deplete you of your mana. You will no doubt be made Tranquil."

Ember did as he commanded but before she could try to convince Cole to hide, the templars were approaching.

"This way, boys. The corpse is in the cell at the end of the hall. Just follow the stench," she heard one templar say to the others.

Ember watched as Cole pressed his back against the metal bars of the cell across from hers, his eyes fixed on the templars that were drawing closer.

Ember held her breath. The hallway wasn't very narrow, but Cole was standing right there. It may be dark, but it wasn't that dark. Maker, they were going to see him. They were going to see him and they were going to kill him.

 _Maker, please don't let any harm come to him_ , she prayed.  _Please… please don't let them hurt him._

The templars drew impossibly close. Cole stayed where he was. Ember nervously held her breath as they kept coming closer and closer. When they reached Cole, however, they walked right passed him, completely oblivious to him, even though he was standing right in front of them, inches away.

Ember blinked. She couldn't believe it. How could they not see him? She realized then that Cole had been telling the truth about himself, despite how crazy it sounded.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't the little she-devil," a voice sneered beside her.

Ember turned her gaze from Cole to the short templar with the long brown hair standing in front of her cell.

André.

The templar smiled cruelly at her. "You don't look so fierce now that your caged."

Ember waved a hand in front of her face with a look of disgust. "I'm just going to assume that something died in your mouth."

His smug look vanished. "You're one to talk." His eyes raked her with contempt. "Why do I even bother? You're no looker."

She snorted. "Speak for yourself. At least I'm no lyrium-swilling, manskirt-wearing bastard like you."

His face contorted with rage. "You know what I do to little mage bitches like you?"

Her eyes rolled. "Oh, the suspense is killing me."

"I teach them a lesson. A lesson they never forget."

"I await with bated breath," she deadpanned.

His anger was instantly replaced with a look of cruelty, the likes of which she'd never seen before. He lifted the baton in his hand and looked at it with an expression on his face that made her sick to her stomach. "You see this? I'm going to beat you nearly to death with it, and then…" Pitch-black eyes met hers. "…and then I'll take from you whatever I want."

Over the templar's shoulder, Ember watched as Cole's pale blue eyes locked onto André, dark and glittering and intense. Corded muscles bunched beneath his tattered leathers, murderous intensions stealing over his face. His body emitted a very palpable aura of danger and power, and Ember wondered how the templars couldn't feel it when it seemed to take up the space around him, pulsing like a dark, foreboding cloud of energy.

"And if you still resist me… well, you won't be able to do that once you're made Tranquil. The Tranquil don't say no to anything."

Blue-green orbs shifted back to the templar, hard and cutting. "You lay one hand on me and I'll rip it off," she promised in a low and menacing voice, refusing to show the fear she felt.

Onyx eyes warred with aquamarine. She straightened her shoulders. She was not going to let this templar frighten her.

"André, let's go," one templar called, irritated with the delay.

André's jaw worked before he spun on his heel and stalked away toward the other templars.

Ember opened her mouth. She knew she shouldn't say it. She knew it would be the absolute worst thing to say, especially since she was still so weak from hunger and dehydration and was unable to draw upon her magic to defend herself. But the words were falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "That's what I thought, you little slack-jawed coward."

The next thing she felt was a hard blow to the side of her head. Ember fell to the ground, hard, her skull slamming painfully against the stone floor, a loud crack resonating from the impact.

Ember groaned against the grimy stone floor. It was difficult focusing on anything other than the incredible pain searing through her temple, let alone trying to stand and fight back, or summon her mana despite the mana draining bars that surrounded her. Her thoughts were racing through her brain in a jumbled kaleidoscope, and her body felt like it was moving underwater. Her ears thrummed with a loud buzzing and Ember forced herself to breathe deeply to keep the panic from setting in as she heard the cell door open with a loud creak.

"You're going to be sorry for saying that," André spat hatefully down at her as he stood over her. "So sorry you won't be able to walk straight for a month."

His hands were on her then, yanking her to him, pulling at her clothes. Terror-stricken, Ember screamed and thrashed back and forth on the ground, kicking wildly, twisting and lurching from side to side to get away from him.

"We don't have time for this, André," one of the other templars hissed.

"Get your filthy hands off of me, you blighted, ball-less prick!" Ember screamed, kicking wildly at any part of him she could reach while he tried to catch her flailing legs.

"Hold still, ya bitch!" the brute's gritty-edged voice barked down at her.

Ember fought with all her might despite the unbearable pain shooting through her temple. She was on her back, her body flailing convulsively. She kicked her legs and jerked her body. Her nails scratched at his arms like a wildcat, tearing the skin and drawing blood as she tried desperately to wrench herself free from the templar's grasp, trying to summon enough magic to unleash something awful upon him.

Cole appeared impossibly behind André, as if out of thin air. The wicked looking blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness a second before Cole lifted it and brought it down in a smooth downward strike. The tip of Cole's dagger exploded out the front of the templar's armored shoulder, blood spraying. Mouth open, his jaw hanging slack in shock, André toppled forward face-first to the ground and Ember rolled sideways at the last second to avoid him landing on her.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" One templar exclaimed in fright. They were all searching frantically, trying to find the attacker but saw nothing and no one.

"Andraste's great flaming ass!" Another templar cried, terrified. "How the hell did that happen?!"

"Did you see anything?!"

"No!"

"I-It's… it's the Ghost of the Spire!" The third templar cried, trembling with fear.

"We have to get out of here!"

The templars collected André and locked her in her cell again before they ran as fast as they could down the hallway, as if the devil himself were chasing them.

Wide-eyed Ember stared up at Cole from where she lay sprawled on the cold ground. He was standing in front of her cell, staring after the templars. His body was taut, his hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white around his blood-soaked blade, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

Silence settled heavy on them, nearly suffocating. The only sound was the dripping of the fresh blood off the end of his dagger onto the stone floor. A strange darkness coiled around him, clung to him, irreparably bound to some part of him. Cole's chin turned slightly and his eyes clashed with hers, blazing with something hard and dangerous.

He was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen.

As he looked at her, his face softened slightly to something more solemn, his eyes brooding as they searching her face. "You're afraid of me." The words were spoken slowly, quietly, carefully, the fear and remorse in them apparent. "You don't have to be."

She looked up at him, but not as far as his eyes. She avoided his unnatural eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she replied, though in truth she was. "And I'm not afraid of him either."

"You should be," he replied stiffly. "It's cold and black, slithering inside him like snakes."

"What is?"

"His hate," Cole answered sharply, jaw tight. "It's tar black inside. He hates them all because of the pain his mother gave him. Pain, old and lingering, festering. Like poison. It's turned his core black and rotten."

"André?" she asked as she managed to get to her feet. Her temple throbbed, aching. "He hates who?"

"Women."

She shuffled across the floor to meet him at the bars. "How did you know that?"

"I listened."

"What does that mean? How did you know what he was—why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes burned into hers, glowing in a way that trapped her gaze within his. His breathing met hers, heavy and hard. She could hear him swallow, could see the unnamed emotions careening around the inside of his skull, coloring his eyes, kindling something tender in their blue depths.

"I can protect you," Cole said softly as he moved closer to the bars that separated them, all fluid movement with more than a hint of promised danger beneath the surface. Those eyes didn't release hers - watched her for… something. "If templars come for you, I will kill them."

She stood close to him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body and the power that seemed to vibrate from his sinewy frame. It made her feel… _something_ … a something that was so outside anything she'd ever experienced.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was moving closer to the bars and leaning into him.

Cole's body went rigged and his eyes became wide as she stepped forward, lifting her arms. "What are you-?"

"Thanking you for saving me," she whispered, watching the various emotions pass over his eyes, his sharp cheeks, and lips as she moved in closer.

He didn't stop her as she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a friendly and consoling embrace, resting her cheek against his collarbone as best she could with the cold metal bars pressing against her face.

Cole stiffened as if he'd been snap frozen and she heard a sharp intake of breath. His body was taut with tension, marking his unease, his breathing shallow and rapid against the top of her head, which barely came up to his chin.

Ember inhaled slowly, taking the scent of him into her lungs. She could smell the leather of his armor, the dirt on his skin, and something spicy that was all his own, like cinnamon. But the coppery scent of blood overpowered the rest, the smell so strong it clung to him like a second skin.

Her breath caught in her throat when his lean arms lifted stiffly to encircle her completely in an awkward embrace. His arms were like steel as they pulled her to him, his grip painfully tight, his strength terrifying, the metal bars digging painfully into her body. She felt him nuzzle her hair. She heard him inhale deeply, as if trying to catch her scent. His near-panicked grip and the slight trembling of his limbs led her to wonder when anyone had even attempted to hug him last, if ever.

Emotion wound through her as she gently splayed her fingers against his lean back in an attempt to soothe him. There was an aloneness within him that mirrored her own. In that moment, she knew he felt it too. The isolation. The loneliness. He was as much in need of companionship as she was.

They stayed like that for a while, just reveling in the comfort they each provided. There was a fluttering and simultaneous squeezing in her chest that felt an awful lot like affection, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Cole's death grip loosened slightly and Ember pulled away. His fingers trailed down her bare arms as she stepped back before falling limply to his sides.

The air between their bodies seemed to vibrate with some unknown charge, the tension between them palpable. There was an undercurrent of something flowing in the air around them that she couldn't comprehend. And there was something about the way he looked at her…

Something had darkened the light blue shade in a way she'd never seen before. No man had ever looked at her as Cole was now. His eyes, usually full of shadows, were now full of… she wasn't sure what was in his eyes, but it wasn't shadows.

"Ember…" His voice wavered with a nameless emotion.

His hand lifted slowly and reached for her between the bars, as if to touch her face. Ember quickly shut her eyes, shaken, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. She didn't move away from him. She didn't  _want_  to move away from him. She lifted her head slowly, a thrum of anticipation pulsing through her. She was trembling, nervous and unsure, and there was just a hint of fear in the air. She opened her eyes.

Cole was gone.


	4. Little Talks

_My Maker, know my heart_

_Take from me a life of sorrow_

_Lift me from a world of pain_

_Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

_\- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

Cole visited Ember's cell daily. Everyday he returned to her. Just to talk to her. Just to hear her voice. Cole used to try and get people to notice him. They did, sometimes, but they always forgot shortly after. He would simply slip their mind completely. He kept returning to Ember's cell, expecting the same thing to happen, but it never did. She always greeted him with a smile and a whisper of his name that caused his skin to break out into goosebumps. She saw him when most couldn't, and she remembered.

Ember told him about her life. She told him about how she ran away from home when she was eight-years-old, told him about the Hawke family and how they'd saved her and taught her what it really meant to be family. She told him of her time with the Fog Warriors and how they'd been slaughtered, how she'd been the only survivor. She told him about how she'd left Seheron after that, wondering the world, becoming a vagabond. She spent her time alone, hiding, afraid to be identified as an apostate and taken by the templars. She said she'd been searching, searching for somewhere to call home, somewhere she could live unafraid of losing her freedom. She'd gone to Rivain, Antiva, the Free Marches, and even spent some time in Tevinter.

After years of living alone and on the road, she'd found herself traveling to Lothering in search of the Hawke family, in search of the companionship she'd once felt with them to ease her loneliness. At the age of fifteen, Ember had gone home to Lothering, but when she'd arrived she'd found nothing but ash. The little town had been burned to the ground during the Blight. At that time Ember had heard how the Hero of Ferelden had saved the world three years earlier, but she didn't know how badly Ferelden had suffered because of the Blight until she saw it for herself.

On her sixteenth birthday, Ember had been ambushed by darkspawn while searching the Korcari Wilds located just outside of Lothering. She'd been searching for the small cabin that had once been the home of the Hawke family when the darkspawn had attacked her. She'd almost been overwhelmed, death coming for her, when two hooded figures had saved her. The pair had killed the darkspawn that had surrounded her with a precision that was unmatched, as if they lived and breathed killing darkspawn. Once the darkspawn were eliminated, the two hooded figures had approached her. Thinking they were templars or maleficar, Ember had moved into a battle stance, no fear in her eyes as she'd stared them down, silently daring them to bring her harm or to lock her up. The pair had stopped then and removed their hoods, revealing their identities to her.

Ember had gasped, recognizing them immediately. It was Alistair Theirin, the King of Ferelden. He stood tall and proud in his Grey Warden armor, though he couldn't stop playing with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Beside him stood Elissa Cousland – The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, and the Queen of Ferelden. Ember had stared at her in awe. She was so beautiful with her perfect features, long chestnut brown hair, and deep brown eyes. Ember had kneeled, not sure what else to do, and Elissa had laughed softly, telling her to rise.

Elissa had looked Ember over, slowly, as if searching for something. After a long time, Elissa had asked Ember if she was lost. Ember had looked around her, at the Korcari Wilds that surrounded her. It had been a long time since she'd been in Lothering, but she remembered the path to Redcliffe. Ember had told Elissa that she knew where she was going. Elissa had given her a pointed look and asked again if she was lost. Ember had realized then what the Queen of Ferelden was asking her. With those all-too-seeing brown eyes on her, Ember had felt the full weight of her loneliness. Ember had almost burst into tears then when she'd answered the Hero of Ferelden, telling the older woman that she was lost, that she'd been lost for a very long time.

Elissa had nodded, as if she already knew this. The Queen of Ferelden had looked at her husband then and the two seemed to have a silent conversation, speaking only with their eyes. Alistair had shaken his head furiously and crossed his arms, as if in defiance to whatever it was she had silently said. But after a while, the King's arms fell and he nodded in resignation, as if Elissa had somehow silently convinced him of something. Elissa had smiled at Ember then and told her that she would find purpose with Sister Nightingale. The King and Queen of Ferelden had walked away then and didn't turn around, not even when Ember had called after them, asking them who Sister Nightingale was and where she could find her. Ember didn't know where they were going, but they looked like they were on a mission of some kind.

Ember had been searching for Sister Nightingale ever since, which was two years now. Ember had told Cole how she'd trusted someone to help her find Sister Nightingale and how that person had betrayed her, turning her into the templars, which resulted in her being thrown into the dungeons of the White Spire Tower.

Cole was so much enjoying visiting Ember and the feeling of warmth that always accompanied her presence. It's what drew him to her, day after day. He couldn't help himself. Ember was a talkative and open girl. She had the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen. She gladly answered almost all of his questions, unashamed of her thoughts and feelings and unafraid to share them with him. In the weeks she'd been imprisoned in the dungeons of the White Spire, Cole had visited her and learned who she was.

He knew her greatest fear was being made Tranquil. He knew her second greatest fear was losing her freedom. He knew she hated using magic and preferred using a bow or blades. He knew she trained every morning to keep herself strong. He knew she loved the feeling of sand between her toes, the feel of the wind blowing through her hair, the sun shining on her face, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. He knew she loved warm cookies when it was snowing. He knew her favorite color was red, just like him. He knew she didn't trust anyone, a result of being betrayed by everyone she'd ever trusted. He knew she wished she had a family and friends. He knew she was lonely. He knew she was lost. She was just like him in so many ways.

But it wasn't enough. Cole wanted to know more. When it came to Ember, any scrap of information was necessary. He  _needed_  to know it, though he couldn't explain why. There were many things she kept to herself, saying they were too painful to speak of. He wanted to know them. He needed to know  _everything_.

Cole found himself growing increasingly frustrated. Why couldn't he hear her pain like he could everyone else? He ignored the whispers of the sad songs that came from others, but with Ember, Cole found himself trying almost desperately to hear her song, to hear her pain, so that he could untangle it. Somehow he knew that if he could untangle her hurt, take away her pain, she would glow even brighter, if that were at all possible. She was like a star – bright and shining and pressing against the darkness that dwelled within him – one that he wanted to orbit around.

Cole realized that ever since he met her, he was behaving very strangely. He was feeling things and doing things he didn't understand, couldn't explain. Like the other day when he found himself trying to catch her eyes, just to stare into them. They were the most mesmerizing eyes he'd ever seen - deep sapphire blue mixed with bright vibrant emerald, the color changing with her emotions. Or when her back was turned and his eyes would take the opportunity to stare unabashedly and unseen.

One night during the beginning of Ember's fourth week at the White Spire Tower, Cole was walking in the White Spire Tower, wanting to get Ember a piece of carrot cake – her favorite – when he saw a pair of young mages huddled in a dark corner. It was a young man and woman and they were standing very close to each other, their bodies touching. Their hands were on each other, running all over. But it was what their mouths were doing that made him pause and draw closer, curious.

The entire experience had greatly disturbed Cole. It wasn't the fact that he was watching the two mages that troubled him. Cole always watched people. That was nothing new. It was  _how_  he watched these two that unsettled him. Cole didn't just watch the man's mouth press against the woman's, he  _studied_  it. Strangely, unexplainably, he wanted to know what they were doing. He wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know how to do it. It didn't make sense. He didn't understand. But that didn't change the fact that he still wanted to know.

Cole didn't understand what was happening to him. He was trying to understand, but he didn't. His body was reacting in a way that his mind was unable to comprehend, as if his body and mind were from two different worlds. It was confusing and overwhelming and frightening, but also wonderful and exhilarating and intriguing.

Cole shook his head as if to shake away his thoughts. He didn't want to focus too much on what she was doing to him. Cole turned the last corner and came to an abrupt halt. He stood a few feet away from Ember's cell, keeping to the dark, watching her. Ember's back was to him, pressed against the bars of her cell. Her knees were bent, her slender arms wrapped around them. She was looking up at the ceiling of her cell and he knew she was wishing she could see the stars. She did that a lot.

Cole's eyes raked her, almost greedily. In a world that appeared to him in shades of black and grey, Ember stood out among the rest. Her body was always haloed with a bright white light, giving her an ethereal glow.

On silent feet Cole approached her, lured by her light. The fire within her called to him, beckoned him, drew him in. And like a moth to a flame, Cole found himself moving closer to her, irresistibly impelled, as if pulled by some invisible force. The pull to her was undeniable, irrepressible, and Cole wondered if this was what a magnet felt like when it met another magnet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember sat on the stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the metal bars. She'd stripped off her coppery chainmail armor and was now dressed in only her black cloth tunic and black tights that she wore under her armor and her black leather boots that almost reached her thighs.

She didn't know how long she'd been trapped here. She knew it was over a month, but she didn't know precisely. Once a day one of the templars brought her food and swapped out the small bucket where she relieved herself. She hadn't seen André since that one day all those weeks ago, and she was grateful for that. The other templars didn't bother her, whether it was because they were good templars, they were afraid of her, of they feared the Ghost of the Spire's wrath, she didn't know. All she knew was that she'd have gone mad by now if not for Cole.

Her eyes flickered every now and then to the side to see down the long dark hallway she knew he would approach from. Ember felt jittery as she eagerly anticipated Cole's return.

Cole visited her everyday. She would sit cross-legged in front of him and he would do the same, only the metal bars separating them and the small flame she would cast as the only source of light besides the single wall sconces that lined the dark halls every few feet.

He would bring her water as well as meat, cheese, bread, and fruit that he'd stolen from the kitchens of the White Spire. He would bring her gifts and do little things that always made her feel better.

For instance, one day she'd told Cole about how Bethany Hawke used to make the best ratatouille. She'd told him how merely the smell of it could bring up the happiest memories of her life and how that smell alone never ceased to bring a smile to her face. Cole didn't visit her for a while after that, but when he returned it was with a large bowl of ratatouille. She didn't know how he'd gotten the ingredients or how he'd made it, or if he'd stolen it. The bowl didn't fit through the bars and so Cole had held the bowl up to her while she took spoonfulls through the bars. She'd smiled at him and hugged him for his thoughtfulness.

Another time, Ember had awakened on the stone floor of her cell to find a hand-carved charm on a leather necklace lying beside her. The charm resembled a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon. It was clear that whoever made it had spent a great deal of time on it and had used exquisite care to carve the charm. When she'd asked Cole about the necklace he'd blushed a bright red and said he'd made it for her. Ember wasn't sure why he would make her something so beautiful, but she tied the leather necklace around her neck and had been wearing it ever since.

Cole was constantly doing little things like that. They were just small little things, but they touched her deeply. They made her happy. They made her smile. They made her momentarily forget her gloomy surroundings and ominous fate.

Ember couldn't suppress the broad smile that bloomed on her face as she thought of him. Bloody hell, she felt like a total idiot smiling like a fool in her prison cell while she thought about a boy. She'd scarcely ever noticed the opposite gender before, at least not in  _that_  way. But she was  _definitely_  noticing Cole, no matter how hard she tried not to.

Maker help her, there was no doubt about it, she was losing her mind. Still, she couldn't deny that Cole had become special to her, a precious person in her life. He was so kind, thoughtful and caring, so much so that sometimes she swore he was compassion incarnate.

Ember sensed the slightest shift of air pressure behind her, followed by the electrifying aura that encompassed Cole's form. Her skin prickled with awareness as she felt him come up behind her.

A second later, nearly startling her out of her skin, she felt fingers brush her hair to the side. Neck exposed, she felt warm breath fall against the skin on the nape of her neck causing the hairs there to stand on end.

Ember could do nothing but stare straight ahead, her pulse escalating, aware of a slow heat that filled every pore on her skin. Her body began to tremble when she felt warm fingertips trail down the back of her neck. She swallowed, hard, as something she couldn't identify seemed to crackle over her skin, making it hum in reaction to the way his fingers seemed to burn into her skin.

But something inside of her tightened when his fingers began tracing the symbol that was engraved on the back of her neck.

"What is this?" She heard Cole ask in his low, rasping voice that never failed to effect her.

"It's… it's nothing," Ember answered almost breathlessly.

 _Oh, yes, definitely dangerous_ , Ember thought a bit helplessly, even as she mentally chided herself for letting him affect her so. Certainly no man had ever affected her the way Cole did.

"Trust me."

Trust was not a word she believed in. Trust always led to duplicity. Every person in her life had betrayed her, each form of treachery leaving its mark on her flesh and on her heart.

"Can I trust you?" she whispered, uncertain.

Ember turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Cole was crouched on the balls of his feet, his hand holding her hair away from her neck.

It really was deplorable the way her pulse reacted to just the mere sight of him. How he contrived to look so unkempt and rough and attractive at the same time was a mystery to her. Maker's breath, how could anyone not remember this man? Those eyes alone were impossible to forget. She felt as though they were branded in her memory.

Cole lowered his head and looked up at her from beneath his long black lashes. "You can trust me."

"Cole…" Ember was surprised at how husky her voice was. "I don't trust easily. Everyone single person I've ever trusted has betrayed me."

"I won't," he replied gently, sincerely.

"It is a brand," Ember answered, not sure in her decision to trust him.

Cole's eyes fell away from her briefly, roaming idly over the metal bars laid between them.

Ember exhaled slowly. She found that she could breathe a little easier without their intense weight bearing down on her.

"I've seen that brand before," he murmured. "But yours is not of lyrium."

Ember faced forward to hide her expression from him as she reached behind her to run her fingers over the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck. As she traced the mark, her fingers brushed Cole's and she felt a charge of electricity arch between them with the contact, jolting her with an abrupt shock.

Ember told her hand to move, to stop touching him, but her fingers refused to listen and lingered on top of his.

The air immediately shifted, becoming strained and electric.

Ember ripped her hand away and clasped her hands in her lap.

A moment later and Cole removed his hand as well, letting the heavy red curls fall to cover the mark on the back of her neck.

"Tell me," Cole murmured behind her, his voice lower and huskier than it had been before. "Tell me how you received that mark."

Ember tried to formulate a response, but she couldn't when she was maddeningly conscious of the his gaze lingering on her, burning a hole into her back.

"Please," Cole pleaded when she didn't answer. "I  _must_  know."

Ember turned around to face him. "My parents were simple farmers in Orlais. They lived in the country, away from other people," she started. "When I accidently set the family barn on fire, they were frightened of me. They'd never seen magic before." She scoffed with derision. "They thought I was a demon." Her eyes met his, the anger in them apparent. "They tortured me. They thought the torture would force the demon from me. Idiots."

Ember's hand absently went to rub the back of her neck. She closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of anger and pain that memory conjured up. "One day, they went to the nearest Chantry and returned with a book. In the book, they learned how mages were made Tranquil. They thought they could force the magic out of me by branding me with the Chantry's sunburst symbol as they'd seen in the pictures in the book. They didn't realize such a ritual required lyrium. They didn't want it on my forehead where everyone could see it and see I was a mage, so they put it on the back of my neck." She swallowed, her throat working. "They… they held me down and recited the Chant of Light as they branded me with the symbol of the Tranquil with a branding iron. It didn't make me Tranquil, of course. But it…" Her voice wavered and faded out on a shaky whisper of breath. "I was… I was only eight-years-old… just a child…"

She watched Cole's eyes grow stormy and a muscle moved up and down in his jaw, as if he were chewing on something hard and distasteful.

Ember bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes down, fixing them upon the ground while she shifted uncomfortably. Never in her life had she opened herself this way. Never had she confessed a weakness to another. The world didn't need any more ammunition to use against her, yet here she was, handing the dagger to him that he could use to stab into her back.

Ember stared down at her boots, refusing to let the tears in her eyes fall. She didn't know why there were tears in her eyes or why there was suddenly a lump in her throat. She hated to cry. She hated when other people cried. Crying never helped anything but show one's weakness. She was not weak. She would not cry. She wouldn't.

"It wasn't your fault," Cole murmured softly, yet firmly.

"No. It wasn't," she agreed in a little voice.

"What your parents did… it was wrong," Cole whispered. "A product of ignorance and fear. You didn't deserve that. You didn't do anything wrong. You were born with a gift - a gift the Maker gave you. There is nothing wrong with that. You were a little girl and someone who was supposed to protect you didn't do that."

"They tried to change me," she said in an uneven voice. "But they couldn't break me. No one will ever break me. I will not go gentle into that good night," she uttered fiercely. "I will always rage, rage against the dying of the light."

His blue eyes lit up with interest and she smiled at him in understanding. "You like that?" she asked.

Cole nodded quickly, his curiosity apparent.

"It's a poem," she explained. "Written by a circle mage named Dylan Thomas. He led a mage rebellion in Starkhaven a long time ago. It's my favorite."

Cole stared off into the distance. "The words are loud and filled with hate and pain. They are dipped in ink and blood, the blood of mages and templars alike. The desire for freedom is wrapped around them, like blankets around a child on a winter's night. Hunger coats them - hunger for freedom, for independence. They resonate with you, just as they resonate with other mages."

Ember used her nail to scratch at a dried piece of dirt on her black tights. "The words give mages hope. Sometimes we need hope that there really is joy and redemption on the other side of deep suffering. Sometimes we need hope that if we make a stand for our rights, if we refuse to back down and be intimidated by the face of oppression, that we will find serenity."

Cole said nothing. He continued to stare off to the side, as if he was somewhere else.

For a long time they sat there in silence.

Once she'd scratched the dirt off her tights, she exhaled a sharp gust of air. "Maker, I'm bored," she blurted out, trying desperately to change the subject and lighten the mood. "I wish I had a book to read or something. I love to read." She flashed Cole a playful grin. "If I asked nicely do you think the templars will give me one?"

Cole blinked. "I don't think a templar would give a prisoner a book. They fear books and the knowledge they give the mages. I think they'll give you another black eye and some broken ribs to go with it instead."

She smiled disarmingly, her eyes twinkling impishly. "Well, that's not very hospitable of them, now is it?"

Cole gave her a pointed look. "Templars aren't known for their hospitality."

She laughed. "You're right. They're more known for the skirts they wear."

"And the mages they brutalize," Cole added with a quirk of his lips.

"Maker, Cole, you're such a downer." The laughing mischief in her bright eyes enlivened her entire expression, giving her an uncommon appeal.

Cole chuckled faintly, a rough, rusty sound that made Ember certain he was not a man that laughed often.

His eyes searched her face before he uttered under his breath, as if to himself. "That would help, wouldn't it?"

Her eyebrows bunched together. "What?"

Expressions, mercurial and rapid, charged across his face. Cole suddenly stood and wiped the dirt off of his leathers. "Bye."

Ember's smile dropped. "What?" She was on her feet in an instant, gripping the metal bars. "Where are you going?"

Cole looked at her as if the answer was obvious. "Parchment and words, stories of old and new, fantasies that only dreams can bring."

Ember blinked. "What does that mean?"

But Cole had vanished into thin air before the last word had left her mouth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cole walked away from Ember's cell, his body edged with tension and rigidity. He rubbed his chest just over his heart, wondering why it ached there all of a sudden. He was breathing deeply, somewhat frightened by what he was feeling, unable to put a name to the many emotions that flooded him. He couldn't fathom his emotions. He was swimming in them, drowning in them. He was overwhelmed. He was also unsettled by how much he wanted to hurt Ember's parents for what they'd done to her.

His mind was racing, contemplating this intense reaction and what it could possibly mean, as he moved toward the lower chambers. Beneath the tower's lower chambers were the archives – rooms upon rooms filled with the books they didn't keep in the upper libraries. There were books about magic there, as well as books of music and philosophy, books in forgotten languages, and even the forbidden books they put under lock and key. Normally the archives stood empty, but sometimes Cole would find a mage spending long hours reading by candlelight. He would never understand what they found so interesting about words and pictures. Books were all just old paper to him. But right now, Cole was very interested in finding a particular book, one he remembered a young elven mage reading late one night.

A few hours later and Cole returned to Ember's cell. She asked him where he'd gone but he was too nervous to answer her. Instead, he handed her the book he'd gone searching for through the metal bars.

Cole watched with rapt attention as Ember took the book from him with a look of astonishment on her face.

"It's a book of poems," Ember read. "Written by Dylan Thomas."

She looked up at him and smiled her thanks as she held the book to her chest as though it were a precious and revered object.

Cole absorbed her delighted expression, as if it were fuel for his soul. He was very, very pleased with her reaction, a tendril of happiness stirring within himself. That breath-caught smile caused something within him to stir, to awaken from some dormant state, touching something within him he had not known he possessed.

"Thank you, Cole," she whispered as she reached through the bars and touched his arm in a gesture of gratitude.

The sudden contact stirred a strange pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of his nerves. Cole looked down at the small hand that rested gently on the bare skin of his arm. Her touch made him strangely warm, heat crawling down his neck. His skin felt prickly, his pulse doing this weird jumping thing.

It felt…  _good_. Like he was alive. Like he was real.

Ember pulled her hand from his arm and Cole felt a sharp sting of disappointment. She tucked a red curl behind her ear as she moved to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the bars and he did as well. Her knees touched his through the bars, the book open in her lap and the flame she'd cast hovering off the ground beside her.

"Do not go gentle into that good night," Ember read, her voice holding the soft hum of an ocean wave. "Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..."

Hours later, with most of the book read, Ember had fallen sleep. She sat cross-legged with the book open and forgotten in her lap. Her body was slumped forward toward him, her face turned to the side and pressed against the metal bars. Her neck was arched back at an odd angle that would most likely hurt when she woke up.

A thick, unruly mass of dark red curls were draped over one slender shoulder, forming a small pile on the stone floor. Some of the thick curls fell across the bars, covering his knee and hand that was rested there. His long pale fingers flexed beneath the soft locks and the scarlet curls rippled across the back of his hand, looking like rivers of blood weaving across the ivory skin of the back of his hand. A strange and unexplainable urge hit him to turn his hand over and let those curls rest in his palm, to let his fingers close over them and see what they felt like between his fingertips.

Unable to resist, Cole carefully reached out and lifted one thick, red tendril, stroking the lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

Cole's eyes shifted from her hair to the girl herself. She slumbered fretfully while she traversed in the Fade. He stared down at her, puzzled yet strangely fascinated. Of their own accord, his eyes traced every line and curve of her face, etching it into his memory. He wondered what it was that made her shine like that. Was it her heart, her soul, or her spirit?

His heart had accelerated while he'd been looking down at her. He found that strange, unsure of the cause. He wasn't in danger, so why was his heart racing in his chest? His hands were sweaty too, though not with the need to draw his blade and run it across flesh. Heat flooded his body, though he wasn't running or sitting in front of a fire. He feel hot and intensely vital. His body was reacting strangely and he was having trouble explaining it. But it felt like… like she'd crawled in somehow, right down deep inside of him, and made herself at home, like it was where she was supposed to be. He needed something in her as he'd never needed in another. He didn't know why. Understanding hard to grasp. All he knew was that he would watch over this one. He would protect this one, like hands cupping a flickering flame during a winter wind.

Reaching through the bars, Cole ran his fingertips down the delicate bones of the sleeping girl's spine.

 _I'll protect you_.

Cole silently made the decision that no one was ever going to hurt her. Because she understood him and because she wasn't afraid of him… because she was warm and bright and trusting while he guarded her while she slept.

 _This one is mine_.

Cole pressed his forehead against the metal bars that separated them and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

 **Author's Note** : The poem Ember reads is a poem entitled "Do not go gentle into that good night" written by Dylan Thomas.


	5. The Passion in Compassion

_With passion'd breath does the darkness creep_

_It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep_

_Transfigurations 1:5_

"Cole? Cole!" he was awakened by someone shaking his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open and he got up slowly and brushed himself off.

"Are you alright?" she asked with concern.

"I think so," he answered.

"You were having a nightmare," she supplied in a low voice. "You were screaming." She bit her lip. "Who's… who's Bunny?" she asked softly after a long pause. "You were screaming her name while you slept."

"She was my little sister."

Ember shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Did something happen to her?"

Cole hesitated. "Yes."

Ember tucked a bright red curl behind her ear. "You can tell me. It might help."

Cole looked away from her to stare off into the distance, eyes glazed as if seeing something that wasn't there. "My family brings up pain, old pain that lingers just beneath the surface of my skin."

"You can trust me," Ember replied gently, repeating the words he'd said to her the day before.

Cole kept his gaze averted as he replied, "Mother was gentle and kind, yellow inside like a ray of sunlight. Bunny was the same, though inside she was green, like the color of fresh spring leaves."

"And your father?"

A muscle worked in Cole's jaw. "Father was black on the inside. His fists spoke of his rage as he used them on us, his lips cursing us, ' _Maker take you and your foul magic!_ '"

Ember swallowed. "W-What happened?"

Cole hesitated, his expression pained. "I don't want to go back in the cupboard on the bad day."

"What bad day?"

Ember watched his eyes take on an unfocused look, as if he was remembering something in his past and when he spoke he spoke as if he was somewhere else, some other time."' _Hide!_ ' Mama whispers urgently to me. ' _Take your sister and hide! Don't make a sound!_ ' I'm twelve-years-old and I'm taking Bunny in my arms. She's only six and she doesn't understand but she's afraid. She's crying because she's so afraid. I get in the cupboard and hide. Hide, like I always did when his fists needed someone to take his rage."

Ember gasped. "Sweet Andraste…"

"I get in the cupboard. It's small and it's cramped. ' _Cole, you little bastard! You think you can hide from me forever?_ ' I hear him yell. In the cupboard, I hold Bunny in a crushing grip with one hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. ' _Don't make a sound_ ,' I whisper to her. ' _Hold your breath. For just a moment, we won't even exist_ '. I hear him searching for us. ' _Cole, come out and die like a man!_ ' He is screaming. ' _You know what the punishment is!_ ' While he looks for us my hand remains clamped over Bunny's mouth to keep her quiet. Only… only she is dead." Cole's voice was faint, aching with pain.

Ember's throat tightened around a sob. Cole was shaking, fighting against sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes flickered to hers and Ember winced, her heart wrenching as she caught a glimpse of a soul tormented by a deep sorrow.

"Bunny was crying, so I covered her mouth with my hand so he wouldn't hear," Cole explained in a tiny voice. "Mama told us to be quiet. I only wanted her to be quiet."

Ember's hand flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh Maker…"

"He finds me," Cole continued, his eyes growing ravaged and tortured as he returned to the bad day. "He finds me in the cupboard with my dead sister in my arms. He rips her from me and throws her to the dogs as if she is garbage. His front is covered in blood not of his own, but of mother's. He looks me up and down. ' _You're worthless_ ,' he sneers. ' _A mistake I should have drowned long ago. You've evil in you, boy, passed down by your mother. You'll pay the price just as she did_.' He's going to kill me this time. I know it. The dagger is in my hand. I don't know how. ' _I won't let you hurt Mama anymore_ ,' I tell him. I hurt so much I see only red, breath only red. ' _I'll stop you_ '."

Cole looked down at his hands that were trembling. "I move faster then he thinks I can. The blade pierces his flesh. Blood is running red and warm between my fingers as I slide the blade into his throat and it exits out the back. We're free. I freed us. Only the only one who is free is me."

Ember could only stare at him, her heart breaking at the look of desolate agony that shadowed his face, the harrowing guilt that filled his eyes. She wanted to ease his pain but didn't know how.

"I… I killed my little sister." His voice cracked on the last word. "I-I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. I didn't want him to find her. I didn't want her to get hurt. I was trying to protect her. I was trying to…" His voice caught on a broken sob and faded to nothing. Every inch of his face was carved with anguish and remorse, his fingers clutching the metal bars that separated them so tight his knuckles had turned white. He was shaking, violently, his shoulders jerking sharply as if he were crying, but he made no sound and there were no tears.

Without thinking, Ember leaned forward and reached through the bars to wrap her arms around him. Cole immediately clutched at her, holding her tightly, his arms gripping her almost painfully and she could feel him trembling. Ember held him to her, stroked his hair, and murmured soothing words to him as though he were a child. He clung to her, holding her, clutching, almost as though he were afraid she would leave him.

Cole murmured her name as he buried his face in her neck as best he could with the bars blocking him, his chin on her shoulder. He didn't seem so odd now, so otherworldly, with his strangeness and haunted eyes. Right now he seemed like a sweet, lonely little boy who needed her. Ember whispered soft, comforting words before kissing the top of his head as he nestled closer to her.

After a long time, the awful shaking stopped. Ember caressed his temple, smoothing his hair back from his face, and smiled at him. Cole's eyes slowly opened into hers, the liquid blue depths of his eyes were deep enough to drown in.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Of course." She smiled at him and ran a hand through his unruly blonde hair, watching as it flopped back to the messy mop on top of his head to hang into his eyes. "What are friends for?"

Fear entered his eyes as he moved out of her arms. "I'm afraid."

Her head tilted. "Of what?"

"I'm afraid you'll forget me."

"Never," she assured him.

His eyes turned sorrowful. "Everyone else does."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "I am not everyone else."

"No, you're not," Cole answered in a low, rasping voice, looking at her as if he could see pieces of herself she'd thought she'd hidden from the world. "You are something else entirely."

Ember held his gaze for seconds that seemed to stretch and twist into something more. "What am I?" she found herself asking.

"You are bright, white-hot light." Cole pointed a finger at himself, eyes downcast. "In me is dark. Your light pushes the darkness until in me is bright."

Her face pinched with confusion and she shook her head. "I don't understand."

His eyes left hers before returning. "You hear but you don't see."

"Help me understand," she replied a little breathlessly.

"When I look at you…" Cole paused, searching for the right words. "…I see light shining, bright and twinkling, elusive and distant." Cole moved closer to her. "I am… drawn to it. To you," he murmured, his raspy voice the softest and huskiest she'd ever heard it.

Time suddenly seemed to halt, the very air vibrating with a blazing tension. His eyes glittered in a way she'd never seen before. There was a strange and unfamiliar thrum in her heart as those eyes spoke of things she wasn't certain she could handle. He looked like he had wanted to… to…

Ember tore her gaze away from his and stared down at the metal bars that separated them, her heart galloping in her chest. In the lengthening silence she could hear the drip of water from the stone ceiling and the sobs of the imprisoned mages around her. She could feel his gaze on her, felt the heat of it, burning away every layer until she felt raw and exposed.

She saw his feet step into her view and she was suddenly conscience of the powerful physical awareness she felt at his nearness. She didn't move away, though she knew she should. His overpowering presence was making her dizzy, unable to think rationally, as if he was using magic.

He shifted in front of her, his hand moving slightly. Her pounding heart leapt into her throat and became lodged there as his hand reached through the bars and settled on her hip.

Her eyes dropped to the milky-white, very male hand touching her, burning her skin through her black cloth pants. His fingers flexed on her hipbone and her sharp inhale was a ragged thing, every muscle in her body clenching.

"Look into my eyes," she heard him say in a low, husky tone that resonated to some deeper place inside of her that she hadn't known existed until this moment.

She stared at his boots, the air around them suddenly thick and heavy with unseen tension, almost as if millions of tiny electrical currents had suddenly ignited all around them. She was keenly aware of his proximity, of what his nearness and touch were doing to her - a primitive, entirely feminine response of her own body.

"Look into my eyes," he repeated, and she was immediately conscious of the subtle change in his voice. The rasping tone stroked across her skin like a caress.

Unable to do anything else, her eyes slowly dragged up his leather-clad torso, his throat, his chin to meet his eyes. Their gazes locked, and the intensity she found there stole her breath away. Cole was staring down at her. Keenly. Unblinking. The entirety of his attention was focused on her, his eyes deep and penetrating.

He took a step toward her, pressing against the bars, getting as close as he could, inhaling the air around him that carried her scent.

Ember exhaled a shuttering breath, her heart a fluttering mess.

Something inscrutable passed in his eyes before his fingertips moved slightly, the lightest of caresses on her hip.

That tiny caress sent every nerve in her body aflame, sharpening all of her senses. She remained motionless as his fingertips began to stroke her hip, the dark glint in his eyes mesmerizing her into paralysis.

Ember heard a shallow panting and realized it was the sound of her own breathing as his fingers trailed up her side, over her hip, to curl around her waist causing heat to spread through her belly. His grip tightened on her waist and he pulled her closer, dragging her to him until she was pressed against the metal bars.

Her body fairly hummed at the feel of his firm male contours pressing against her through the metal bars. She knew she should pull away, yet an unnamable something held her transfixed as his hand slowly trailed all the way up her side until he was cupping the back of her neck, and she focused on the way his breathing had changed - becoming faster, deeper.

His eyes flickered down to her mouth before immediately returning to her eyes, a strange heat suddenly reflected in their depths. Her lips parted on their own accord, and she was suddenly conscious of an odd yearning deep within her.

His fingers were warm and strong and firm as they tightened on the nape of her neck and then he was pulling her toward him, dragging her inexorably, relentlessly closer to him, his gaze never leaving hers as he drew her to him.

She was breathless and unsteady as she stared spellbound, unable to surface from the sea of blue eyes in which she swam. With her heart battering her ribs, she laid her palm on his chest. The bunched muscle beneath her hand felt rock-hard, like stone, but the rapid beating of his heart told her he was very much alive in there. Drawn by an urge more powerful than reason, she tilted her chin up in silent invitation. Never had she felt such wild anticipation mixed with abject panic as his lips descended, closer, until their mouths where almost touching.

He abruptly paused, his lips hovering over hers, almost touching, as if he were afraid of what would happen. She exhaled unevenly and he breathed in, taking her breath deep into his lungs before bringing her across the last scant inches separating them.

Cole's lips found hers, for only a second - a light brush of his bottom lip against her top. But even though the touch was as light as a feather and for only a brief moment in time, a firework of sparks and flames broke out along her skin, zipping through her body like a raging inferno of scorching heat and tingles, and she thought she would die from the incredible sensations.

Cole's lips abruptly left hers, but instead of disengaging and moving away, his lips hovered above hers, his face contorted as if in pain.

Her lungs struggled for oxygen, adrenaline pumping hard and heavy through her as they stood there, unmoving, breathing each other's air. She couldn't think. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. The part of her that was needy and lonely wanted that kiss again, wanted it with a longing that was almost frightening. And she seemed incapable of stopping herself.

She lifted her chin and softly caught his bottom lip between her lips. A warmth like no other began to gather at the pit of her stomach before slowly spreading out to her limbs in a trail of fire. She lingered there for a moment before she pulled away ever so slightly, brushed her mouth against his and captured his upper lip. He tasted as she imagined moonlight would taste - smooth and mysterious, a hint of the darkness on the other side.

His mouth pressed back against hers awkwardly. They were both unsure of what they were doing, neither having done this before, the metal bars between them making it difficult. Acting on pure instinct, she tilted her head and slanted her lips across his as best she could with the bars preventing her movements.

He tightened his fingers behind her neck as his lips parted hers, opening them beneath. She gasped then sighed into his mouth and he stole her breath as his own. Beneath her hand, his heart thundered so hard it seemed to be in rhythm with her own. With every breath that passed from her lips to his it felt as if he claimed more of her soul.

Electricity crackled around them while something strong and vital flowed between them. His free hand pressed against the small of her back, as if he needed her to be closer, and the feel of his fingers on her bare skin sent a bolt of lightning streaking through her so fierce it left her trembling. A tingling, treacherous heat was snaking along her skin and gathering in places that, until now, she hardly knew existed. She could feel her body burst into life in a way she'd never felt before and a tiny whimper of pleasure glided unbidden from her throat before she could hold it in.

At the soft whimper, Cole's mouth became hot and urgent, and even in her innocence, Ember could feel the raw hunger in him. His hand dragged up the skin of her neck and into the nape of her hair. He tilted her head back, deepening the kiss. The hitch in her breath became ragged, gasping. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. She was drowning. Drowning in him.

In desperate need of air, she slowly pulled away. His lips held on until the last possible moment, loathed to separate, until finally disconnecting with a breathy sigh of instant regret.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her. Her hand trailed off his chest. She studied his face, watched his eyes blink open, almost as if he were stunned. He seemed barely to be breathing. She wasn't sure she was breathing either.

Her mouth opened to say something, to say anything, but no words came out. Her heart lodged in her throat when he reached between the bars and took a russet curl between his fingers. He slowly brought the curl up to his lips. She swallowed hard as his eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled the scent of her hair, his black lashes casting fine shadows against the curve of his ivory cheekbones. He expelled an uneven breath, as if straining for willpower, tension in his jaw. His eyes slowly opened and she saw a flicker of something in those deep blue orbs - something dark, potent, and hungry.

And then just like that, Cole faded away.

The curl he'd had pressed against his lips fell against her cheek, and Ember staggered back to lean against the stone wall of her cell and let out an explosive breath she'd been holding in. Shakily, she raised a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. A dozen conflicting emotions warred within her, the attraction she felt for him so forceful as to be almost tangible. But the feelings he'd created within her were so…  _intense_ … almost unnatural.

Ember stared into the darkness Cole had disappeared into. Her eyebrows drew together, her mouth pressing thin with worry as she remembered what Malcolm Hawke had taught her.

_When a demon comes, Ember, it won't seem harmful at first. It'll be something to make you curious until later when it begins to corrupt you._

Before she could contemplate Malcolm's words, a cruel voice echoed ominously in her small cell. "It's time, little she-devil."

Ember turned her gaze to the short templar with the long brown hair standing in front of her cell, his arm in a sling.

André smiled cruelly at her. "It's time to make you Tranquil."

 **Author's Note** : Poor Cole. The first time I read about Cole's background in the book  _Dragon Age: Asunder_ , I almost cried. Cole even mentions being in the cupboard on the bad day in Dragon Age 3 in one of the first conversations you have with him.


	6. Demon

_The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil_

_And grew jealous of the life_

_They could not feel, could not touch_

_In blackest envy were the demons born_

_\- Erudition 2:1_

Ember's body, her thoughts, went cold. Inactive. Immobile.

"T-Tranquil?" She hated how her voice trembled with the force of her terror.

André smiled, almost victoriously at her apparent fright. "That's right. You won't say no to me once you're Tranquil. You'll do everything I ask of you."

Panic licked her spine. "Keep away from me, you templar cur!" she cried, palpable fear lacing the words, and was not surprised when he laughed.

"So much spirit." His cruel smile held as he ran his fingers across the bars. "I want to be the one to break it before it is taken away entirely."

A fury engulfed Ember, freeing her from her paralyzing fear. "Templar swine! I'd kill myself first!"

André just laughed, an ominous sound that chilled her to her bones. Ember's blue-green eyes frantically searched the darkness around the cell for Cole, but she found nothing. Maker help her, she was on her own.

Ember watched with trepidation as the templar reached into his armor, searching for the key to her cell and a slow rolling dread built within her as realization set it.

 _He is going to rape me, and then the templars are going to make me Tranquil_.

Awareness, horrific and frightening, caused her eyes to widen and her body to freeze in terror, a wave of pressure crashing from her throat to her gut.

_Oh Maker… don't let this happen… Andraste save me…_

Ember's heart was thumping like a rock against her chest, her throat was dry, her breathing sporadic and growing more labored by the second, her body trembling with fear.

Suddenly, a strange sort of calm settled over her, like a warm blanket, and her panic began to fade, her terror ebbing. A thin line of defiance tightened her mouth as her fingers touched the charm that hung from the leather necklace secured around her neck that Cole had made for her – a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon.

 _André_   _will not touch me. The templars will not make me Tranquil. I will not allow it. I will fight. I will fight until my dying breath._

Ember's chin tucked, aquamarine eyes flashing beneath blood-red curls as she watched André insert the key into her cell door. Gathering her courage, Ember quickly ripped the leather necklace from her neck. She wrapped her hands around the ends of the leather band and held tight. She watched as the templar opened her cell door and walked inside.

Adrenaline was pumping through her as she waited until the templar's back was turned to close her cell door behind him. With a quick, deft movement she leapt up to his height and threw her arms around his neck, the leather necklace pressed tight against his Adam's apple. The templar gagged and stumbled backwards. Ember's booted feet climbed the back of his legs to dig into his lower back, and she yanked back on the leather band at his neck with all her strength. The templar began to gasp for breath, his hands clawing at hers and the leather necklace as he swung his body sharply to the right and the left, trying to fling her off of him. Ember held on with all her might, pulling on the leather necklace with all her muscle, leaning back and using her weight.

Moments later, the templar's struggling slowed along with his gasps for breath, and he fell forward to the ground, landing face first on the stone floor, taking Ember down with him. Ember lay on top of him, breathing deeply, still clutching the leather necklace in her hands. The templar beneath her wasn't moving, wasn't breathing.

Trembling, Ember forced herself to her feet and secured Cole's leather necklace back around her neck. She quickly donned her coppery chainmail with her black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. She grabbed the book of poems Cole had gotten for her and stuffed it into her belt at her back. She quickly searched the templar's corpse. She took his dagger and secured it at her hip and his pack around her waist that contained health potions and lyrium. She searched his body until she found the keys to the cells. She ran to her cell door, reaching through the bars, and stuck the key in the lock and turned. The lock fell open and she pulled the lock from the cell door.

And then she was running. Running as fast as she could through the dark and winding hallways of the dungeons of the White Spire. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out of there before the templars found her. Cole said the catacombs had tunnels that led out of the White Spire. If she could just reach one before the templars found her, she would be free. Her heart leapt at the word. She would not be made Tranquil. She would be free. It was a small hope, but she clung to it with all her might.

_Cole._

The thought of him made her steps falter. She had to find him. She couldn't leave without him. She wanted him to escape with her. She wanted them to be together. She had fallen for him. She'd been trying to make sense of her tangled emotions, but now she knew. She cared for him. After only a month, Cole had somehow managed to situate himself into her heart, becoming someone very special and precious to her.

She would find him. She had to.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cole stumbled, shaking and unstable, wandering deeper into the dark depths of the dungeons of the White Spire. The air grew more stale and harder to breathe with each step he took, his surroundings morbid with their dripping walls and lichen-splotched ceilings. Cole fell against the stone wall that lined the dark and dismal hallway he now found himself in, the back of his head connecting with a soft thud. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. It physically hurt to take in each breath as he tried to steady his breathing with deep, calm breaths.

Cole touched his lips. It tingled and burned where she'd kissed him, and he felt it all the way down to his bones. He couldn't find the right words, never having felt anything like what he was experiencing. It was foreign, confusing, and supremely potent. And it was all because of  _her_. He didn't want her to forget. A week from now, or a month, he didn't want to be the only one who remembered this.

His body shook, the darkness within him shifting and swelling, building inside him, threatening to tear free. With her mouth on his he'd been filled with this… this  _want_ … this overwhelming _need_ …. the terrifying desire to  _possess_. He didn't understand it, but it terrified him.

Cole groaned and rolled onto his shoulder, letting his warm cheek press against the cold stone wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as that familiar feeling crept like a chill over his bones. The darkness was spilling up inside of him. He tried to will it away, tried to push it back down, but it wouldn't go. It seeped into every part of him, trying to take him away.

_No. Not now. I won't let you._

He clenched his teeth, terrified of being swallowed up by the darkness and fading away forever. It was like the ground was slowly turning to quicksand under his feet and he was sinking, disappearing, becoming transparent. Terror swept him. He didn't want to be truly lost.

_I won't let you take me away from her._

He was trembling. His heart was hammering. A cold sweat was pouring down his face. It almost felt like the shadows in the hall lengthened, like they stretched out toward him, but he tried to evade them.

_I belong here. I want to be here. I don't want to leave her._

Cole rolled again until his forehead was pressed against the stone wall. He needed to push the darkness down deep into himself, to control it. His eyes closed and he focused. The cries of the imprisoned mages echoed all around him, but amidst their grief-ridden sobs, a soft sound began to rise over them. It was a slow and haunting tune, and he was humming it. And he remembered it.

_Wet, white sheets hanging on a line as a warm breeze dried them under a hot summer sun. Flashes of golden hair peeking out between the ivory linens as the wind blew through them. Honeyed tresses and blue eyes. A sudden feeling of comfort, safety, love… and family._

" _I almost didn't hear you approach." A dulcet, feminine voice on the wind. Blue eyes turn to see the tears on his cheeks. Blue eyes see the bruises on his face and arms. Blue eyes become sad. Warm, loving arms are around him, embracing him. A slow, haunting tune falling from lips as she rocks him back and forth._

_"Mama… am I a bad person?"_

_"Why do you say that?"_

_"Dad says I'm cursed with foul magic."_

_"You were born with magic, but that does not make you a bad person."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Your heart told me." A warm smile shinning down on him. "It is pure, true, honest and kind. You are good, Cole, perfect just the way you are." Warm, loving arms are around him again. "Remember, the Maker loves you." Doting kisses on wet cheeks. "Mama loves you too, dear heart. Mama loves you."_

Cole blinked as the memory fragment started to fade. He tried to catch it, but the memory slipped through his fingers and was soon gone. He breathed, each moment slow and excruciating, until finally it wasn't so bad. After a few more breaths, his breathing slowed, returning to normal. Cole breathed with a relief that was soul deep.

 _I'm still real_.

After a few moments, he was able to collect himself somewhat and he pushed himself away from the wall. Cole stopped abruptly as he heard something in the distance. It was a soft cry. A soft cry for death. He could feel it. A lost and hopeless soul. A burning need rose within him, a need to seek them out and free them from their pain. Cole ran his thumb along the edge of the dagger that was in his hand. Sharp. He could give them a way out. He could help while also preventing himself from becoming nonexistent.

Unable to ignore the siren's call, Cole moved swiftly through the dark hallways of the dungeons to where a templar stood on guard by the door that led to the White Spire Tower. His head kept drooping and then snapping up again. Slowly, Cole walked over to the templar, heart pounding in his chest. He stood inches away, looking into his eyes, and knew the guard saw nothing. He stared right through him.

_You don't see me. You won't notice anything I do._

Cole stared into the guard's eyes, concentrating, reaching down into the well of darkness within himself. Way down inside of him, in the darkness he never dared to look, something was there. He tried not to let it frighten him. Instead, he told it to come.

 _You can't see what I do_.

Cole stared into the templar's eyes, so close he could smell his sour breath. Cole embraced the dark power within himself, allowing it to pulse out through his limbs, steeling himself against the fear that came with it. The fear that he was slipping away into nothing. Reaching out, ever so carefully, Cole plucked the keys from the templar's belt. He maintained eye contact the entire time. The man didn't react. The keys jingled, and Cole froze.

_You won't see me._

The templar's mind unconsciously fought against him, and Cole concentrated hard, a headache forming, until he could feel the shroud he'd lain over the guard's eyes. He stood in front of the templar, but the man looked right through him.

Cole carefully backed away from the guard, clutching the keys to his chest, watching for any signs of a response. The man didn't blink, didn't react at all. Cole swallowed, forcing the dark power back down, fighting to keep it from taking over. He brought a trembling hand to his sweaty forehead, fighting for control.

Minutes later, Cole was standing in front of a cell door. Behind it was the lost and hopeless soul that was calling out to him. He unlocked the cell door. The slightest click as he turned the key, and then the faintest noise as he pulled the door open. Quickly, Cole slipped inside. As he entered the cell, Cole saw it was an elven girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. She was cowering in the corner of the tiny cell, curled up in a ball, crying incessantly, her brown hair greasy and stringy around her face.

His chest tightened as he drew close enough to see the girl clearly. All that remained of her blue mage robes was the tattered skirt. The gleam of white was her skin and the remnants of her muslin chemise. Her thin white arms were peppered with black-and-blue marks where fingers had obviously dug into her flesh. Her chemise had been torn away, baring her small chest. Her cheek was swollen, her lip split open, an ugly purple and blue bruise surrounding her eye. Her tattered skirt rode high, and he saw that the pale skin of her inner thighs was caked with blood and something milky-white.

Cole crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls on his feet. With a suddenness that startled him, she jerked her head up. Her eyes filled with stark terror. She took one look at him and began to scream, shrill and short, interspersed with shallow panting. She dove passed him and stumbled out of her cell and into the dark hallway. She tripped over her torn skirt and fell to the stone floor. She scrambled back away from him in fear until her back hit the stone wall that lined the hallway.

Cole slowly stood and approached her. The instant he moved, she began glanced around wildly, as if she sought help. When he stood over her, she began to whimper. "W-Who are y-you?"

"I am the Ghost of the Spire," he answered as he reached under his leather vest and drew a dagger from its sheath. It was an ornate blade with an elaborate brass hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head.

She glanced down at the dagger in Cole's hand, her eyes widening in fear. "Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!" she cried frantically as she shrank against the stone wall to put distance between them. Tears welled in her eyes. When she looked at him again, her expression was one of complete despair. "Please don't hurt me. I can't take anymore pain."

Cole crouched down in front of her and whispered softly, "I can make the pain and fear go away. You won't have to suffer what was done to you again. You won't have to see what they have in store for you." His words were gentle as the dagger in his hand glinted in the low light.

"W-What do they h-have in store for m-me?" she asked, uncomprehending. For an instant her disoriented eyes seemed to focus on him. "They're going to make me Tranquil, aren't they?" Her voice was as dead as her eyes.

Cole nodded sadly, but didn't respond.

Her eyes fell to the dagger in his hand. "Then I want to die." Her low voice caught on the last word. She was crying as she whispered, "I want you to kill me."

Cole stared down at the dagger in his hand, and for a long time the two of them remained in silence.

"Look into my eyes…"

The woman stiffened, but slowly tilted her head back until her brown eyes met his. Cole raised his dagger. Gently, he placed the serrated edge against the woman's neck. She didn't flinch. In fact, she pressed her neck against the blade, welcoming it.

"Thank you," Cole breathed as he gently dragged the serrated blade across her neck, drawing blood. She gasped in shock, but did not look away. Fathomless blue orbs stared deep into dark brown as he cut deep, the mage's neck gushing red blood down the front of her bare chest and into her torn robes. The knife left her neck and she convulsed, a spurt of bright blood erupting from her mouth. Then, with a final shudder, she collapsed into his arms. Cole stared down at her, watching the life leave her eyes.

Cole slowly lowered her body to the ground and closed her eyes before standing, though he continued to stare down at her. He was only dimly aware of the warm blood covering the blade, his hands, the entire front of his leathers.

He frowned.

This usually made him feel connected, like he belonged in the world. It was typically the only thing that made him feel alive. But it was nothing compared to what he'd felt when he'd put his mouth on Ember's. When he'd done that he'd…

Cole's eyes clenched shut, a muscle working in his clenched jaw. Nothing had ever made him feel more alive. And he knew nothing ever would. In only her eyes was he anchored. In only her was he…  _real_. He just wanted to feel what she made him feel. All the time. From now on. With her, distance wouldn't come. He wanted to share with her, wanted to feel. Wanted to know emotion and connection with her. He wanted-

A soft gasp cut through his thoughts and the silence that surrounded him like a knife.

Cole's chin slowly turned until his eyes collided with wide aquamarine. Cole's heart dropped into his stomach, his breath becoming nonexistent. Standing at the end of the hallway was Ember, staring straight at him. The expression on her face would be forever branded on his memory with a sharpness and clarity that was painful.

Fear, stark and vivid, shone in her wide and alarmed eyes, while the color had drained from her face. That look… it struck him like a physical blow. Acrid shame gripped him, clawing at his throat that was sprayed with fresh blood. Her apparent shock, horror, and hurt ate at him, tore at his insides.

In that moment, Cole felt and saw the full consequence of his actions. Ember was stricken, staring at him as though staring at a strange, unknown, dangerous creature and attempting to make sense of it while also trying to get away from it.

She was afraid of him.

His blood ran cold as a dismal sense of fear crashed over him. He felt a jarring sensation akin to panic and an odd numbness in the vicinity of his heart. Without thinking, Cole rubbed the heel of his palm over his heart, as if that would somehow ease the ache, desperately wanting nothing more than to take it back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember stood numb, though her body was visibly shaking. There was a furtive tension to the way she stood, as if she was paralyzed by fear and yet desperate to run. She was afraid to breath, afraid that if she did it would mean she was alive and this was not some terrible nightmare.

Her eyes fell to stare, unblinking, at the blood soaked dagger in Cole's hand. Her eyes lifted to stare at the blood on his hands, on his chest, stare at the blood sprayed across the smooth angles of his ghostly white face, stare into the blackness in his eyes that glowed like a devil's.

In that moment, he was the most dangerous creature she'd ever encountered.

The Veil was fragile here, and she could sense the demons, lurking just beyond and eager to enter this world. Demons were drawn to mages, to transform them into terrible abominations. And Cole… the air of danger that clung to him was palpable, undisputable, dark power coming off him in dark potent waves, eyes tangled and unfathomable as a maze in the Underworld. He was not of this world. A devil spun of darkness and fire.

Understanding nearly brought her to her knees. A dizzying sense of disbelief assaulted her, a nausea so strong she thought she might faint. The violent reality of it was paralyzing. She could feel this stark, gnawing terror in the pit of her stomach. It burned, like acid up her esophagus and she felt she'd choke on it.

Some survival instinct, some sense of self-preservation, told her to run. Run like hell. Run and never look back. To get as far away from him as possible.

"Ember… don't… please don't look that way," Cole pleaded softly.

Ember's hand secretly stole toward the dagger she'd taken off the templar that was concealed at her waist. The cold steel made her feel secure and safe, allowing her to keep panic and fear at bay. His eyes followed the movement, recognizing it for what it was: Fear.

They stood, staring at one another, a brittle and heavy silence engulfing the space between them that was so full of tension that it felt like lute cords stretched unbearably thin and just waiting to snap.

Suddenly, Cole cautiously strode towards her, trying to close the distance between them, but moving down the dark hallway warily, as if he was walking on thin ice.

Ember's eyes went wide as saucers and she scrambled backwards, her body bunched with tension, and she extended an arm to ward him off. "Just – just stay right where you are! D-Don't come any closer!" Panic caked her voice, the edges sharp enough to slice through steel.

Cole came to a stop, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his grief. The agony that twisted on his face was difficult to watch, but she steeled herself against it. The silence that ensued was heavy with tension. The coppery scent of blood and the decaying stench of death hung heavy in the air, saturating it. Stunned and sickened, Ember stared at the bright crimson blood that pooled around the elven girl that was slowly crawling towards her as it expanded on the dirty stone ground. As she stared at the poor girl, despair and anger twisted around her heart, wrenching it tightly.

Ember's expression became fierce and hard as it focused on Cole again. "You… you killed her. You… you  _murdered_  her." Her eyes kindled, making her fiery curls seem more vibrant. "You… she begged you… begged you not to kill her, and you… you  _killed_  her!"

His eyes flickered down to the dead girl lying on the stone. "She wanted to die."

"She was begging you for her life and you took it!"

His face became wracked with grief. "They beg for death not-"

" _They_?!" she cried in disbelief, her tongue fairly tripping over the word. "Maker's breath! This isn't the first time?!"

Cole stared at the floor, embarrassed and ashamed.

She knew the answer.

Her hand flew to her throat. "Sweet Andraste…"

After a long and painful silence that seemed to suck up all the air, he spoke, "I end their suffering. They see me because they want to die," he explained softly. "The pain isn't too much. I make sure of that."

For a long while, Ember felt paralyzed in mind and body as she stared at him. "Is it blood magic?" she demanded, her voice shaky. She paused and calmed herself. "Do you use blood magic to keep people from remembering you, or even noticing you at all?"

Cole looked perplexed. "I don't know any magic."

"Then why?" she asked, her voice small and strained. "Why do you kill them?"

Cole stood still, holding the wicked-looking dagger that was coating with fresh blood at his side. "I needed to… I need to."

" _Needed_  to. You  _needed_  to kill them?"

Cole chewed his lip, an expression that Ember had seen before whenever he was trying to put a difficult thought into words. "There's a pool in one of the lower halls. I go there sometimes," he murmured, appearing lost in thought. "You can float when you're underwater. If you close your eyes, it's like you're floating in nothing. You're surrounded by darkness, and all you can hear is yourself. Everything else is far away."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Cole was quiet for a while. "Sometimes I feel like I'm underwater, and I won't ever get out again. I just keep sinking and sinking, and there's no bottom. The darkness is going to swallow me up. I'm falling into the cracks between what's real and what's not real, and if I don't stop myself I'll be lost there forever. The only way I can stay is to…"

Her heart was pounding in her throat. "Is to…  _kill_ people?"

"The moment they die, they look at me. They  _see_  me. They know I'm the one that's killed them, and that makes me the most important thing in the world." Cole's gaze flickered to her and she found herself staring squarely into the eyes of oblivion. "I've never been that important to anyone. They return to the Fade remembering me. For just a moment I'm a part of the world again. I'm real. I'm  _alive_. I don't want to be lost-"

"I don't care what you say." Ember's tear-filled gaze sliced to him. "I don't believe you."

Cole looked up at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "They were hurting. The dagger lets the hurt out."

"A dagger causes pain and death!"

"I'm helping them." His voice was thick, his eyes large and glistening. "I use the knife to set them free."

"You're not helping them!" she screamed. "You're hurting them! Killing them! There are other ways to help people, but you ignore them all and choose the knife because you  _like_  it!" She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a dry sob. "You're a cold-blooded murderer. At best that's what you are. At worst, I don't even want to think about what you might be. You're a monster!"

Cole turned away, as if stricken. He clamped his eyes shut, fighting back a wave of tears.

The guilt, confusion, and disillusionment each shoved against her chest, nearly suffocating her. So desperately did she want to believe him. Whatever he was, she wanted to believe he meant well. But as that poor girl's blood dripped off the end of his dagger to join the pool of it at his feet, she knew she didn't believe it. She felt so mad, hurt and betrayed. She'd refused to see him for what he was because of her foolish attraction to him.

But she could see him for what he was now.

Demons often became confused when they passed through the Veil. They found themselves in a world they had no control over, and no connection to. They sought out such connections, possessing whatever they could see and touch, seeking to make it conform to the world they'd left behind - a world embodied by concepts and emotion rather than immutable reality.

Cole said he killed because he was fading away. As if he lacked a connection to the world, and the killings somehow strengthened it. Blood magic was the manipulation of life energy, the strongest source of mana. Such life energy could provide a demon the connection it needed to prevent it from falling back to the Fade, no matter how temporarily. Cole could influence the minds of others. He could appear invisible to them and also make them forget him. Those abilities were the hallmarks of blood magic. Strange powers fueled by the letting of blood from the victims.

But only a mage could perform blood magic. So either Cole possessed the body of some unfortunate soul and was an abomination, and thus able to use that body's magic to draw the life force from it, or he was a disembodied spirit trying desperately to maintain a connection to this world, his only power the ability to influence the minds of others, most likely bending her thoughts into thinking him harmless.

Ember didn't know which he was. And she didn't care. All she knew was that he was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. He was a murderer, a heartless fiend who killed innocent mages just to feel alive. Was she next? Would he kill her?

Ember bolted. In a flurry she ran through the hall. The stairs leading down to the catacombs appeared around the corner, and she stumbled, practically falling down the steps. Then she almost fell on her face as a tall, dark, dreadfully familiar figure appeared out of thin air in front of her.

Ember shrieked, scrambling madly out of his reach.

"Please…" Cole pleaded, stalking after her. "Don't… don't leave me," he whispered brokenly, like he couldn't bear to see it happen, a hint of desperation and an echo of devastation lacing the softly spoken words.

He was in her space then, leaning into her and her face went a bit paler. Her whole body turned ice cold, then fire hot, before all her blood decided to rush violently in her veins, her accelerating heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears.

"You're my first friend. My only friend." He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. "You burn so brilliantly. Fiery, gentle, warm. Strong yet soft. A flickering flame in a black pit, bright and shining and beautiful. Lips soft as velvet, skin the scent of fire and ice, warm breath breathing life into me…"

He reached out and captured a scarlet curl between his thumb and forefinger, his expression dark and intense. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to forget. I… I don't want to return to icy walls of darkness, surrounding, drowning, aching and alone, empty of light and warmth and lips and…" His eyes lingered on her mouth, then rose back to search her eyes. "If you go,  _dear heart_ , I want to go with yo-"

"No." That one word echoed against the stone walls that surrounded them.

Ember watched as the life seemed to drain out of Cole.

"I wish I'd never seen you." Her voice was only a whisper of quiet anguish, merging with the stillness around them.

She heard the air leave his body in a loud whoosh and saw the pain fill eyes, contort his pale face as cold, as bleak as death. "You may wish to have never seen me, but I cherish the day I saw you, and everyday since." His voice was grating, so rough, eyes so tortured it hurt staring into them.

The breath left her lungs while a sudden ache burned her throat and her eyes. She was so full of hurt, confusion, and choking fear it was ravaging her. She smothered it, forcing herself to become numb and encased in a frigid block of ice.

She was so cold she wasn't feeling anything.

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Cole felt a strange sense of panic settle in, a nameless fear take hold.

He took one step forward, his hand outstretched, feeling a desperation that he didn't recognize as he watched Ember turn and flee down the stairs to the catacombs, disappearing into the darkness.

His hand fell limply to his side.

Tears burned in his eyes as a terrible grief overwhelmed him.

He stumbled back and hit the stonewall.

There he crouched down, placing his head between his knees and his hands over his head.

She wanted to get away from him.

She was afraid of him.

She thought him a monster.

He lost her.

Lost her forever.

She was gone.

She was never coming back.

He'd never see her again.

She was going to forget about him, just like all the rest.

He was alone.

Again.

All alone in a world that couldn't see him, couldn't remember him.

Anguish, it rippled like a shockwave from his core as a terrifying sense of loss gripped him, making it difficult to breathe.

Cole squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the back of his skull.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Hot-white pain, searing and burning, blistering, tearing, consuming.

It was unbearable.

He could feel the light she'd placed in the vacant hole of emptiness inside of him go out, returning once more to nothing but cold, bleak blackness.

The darkness within him smiled a sinister smile as it slowly rose to claim his soul, devouring it, leaving him hollow, aching, and alone.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter was heavily influenced by the book  _Dragon Age: Asunder_  written by David Gaider, the head writer of the Dragon Age games. The part where Cole says he sometimes feels like he's underwater was taken straight from the book. That is my favorite quote from the book and I just had to include it. It's such a great description of who Cole is.


	7. Memories

**Part II - The Space Between**

_Each night in dreams_

_That you may always remember me_

_-_ _Threnodies 5:1-5:8_

_One Year Later_

_9:37 Dragon_

_Valence_

At the cloister in Valence, Leliana was on her knees, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her face in prayer, her black hood pulled up and covering her short auburn hair. This was where Divine Justinia V had formerly been the Revered Mother, and simply Dorothea to her. She came here when her faith was shaken, as it was now.

Leliana had just heard that a mage, Anders, had destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall, slaying the Grand Cleric. His acts had set off a series of events that led to the slaughter of nearly every member of the city's Circle of Magi. So many innocents dead. So much wasted life. She couldn't see how the Maker could allow something like this to happen.

Leliana couldn't help but feel guilty. As the Left Hand of the Divine, she'd gone to Kirkwall to see the mage-templar conflict for herself. The Divine had wanted her to judge the situation and take any action she thought necessary to keep the peace. Leliana had met the Champion of Kirkwall. She'd also met that mage, Anders. She should've killed him then. She could've prevented all of this. Why hadn't she seen him for what he was? Why didn't Hawke kill that abomination years ago? Why didn't-

"Leliana!" Sister Natalie cried as she burst through the doors to the back room, out of breath.

"Yes?" Leliana asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There's a girl… she just stumbled through the front doors and she's… she's covered in blood," Sister Natalie panted, clutching her side. "She's asking for you by name."

Leliana stood swiftly and ran to the front doors followed closely by Sister Natalie. She gasped when she saw the body of a girl lying on the floor by the front doors. She was young, maybe eighteen-years-old, and a heavy mass of deep red curls were spread around her head like a halo of fire. Her face was covered in little cuts and bruises, and her slender body was covered in blood, mud, twigs and leaves. She looked as though she'd been through hell.

Leliana looked over her shoulder at Sister Natalie and said firmly, "Get some health potions and a healer right away. The girl will also need food, water, and a bath."

"A-Alright," Sister Natalie stammered before she disappeared out the front doors.

The girl's head suddenly turned toward her and Leliana found herself staring into the most vivid blue-green eyes she'd ever seen.

"S-Sister… Sister N-Nightingale?" the girl croaked, her voice sounding as dry and cracked as her lips looked.

"Yes, I'm Sister Nightingale," Leliana answered as she approached the girl cautiously, not sure if she should trust her. This could be a trap. This girl could be an Antivan Crow who'd come here to assassinate her. She should be careful.

Leliana knelt beside the girl, her hand on the hilt of her hidden blade. "Maker's breath, child. What happened to you?" she asked softly as she looked the girl over, checking her injuries.

The girl tried to smile up at her, but she winced from the pain it caused her bruised face and the smile disappeared. "I've been looking for you for so long."

"Looking for me?" Leliana asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

"You have no idea…" the girl's voice cracked and faded to nothing. Her eyelids fluttered as if she was fighting unconsciousness. "…no idea what I've gone through to find you."

"Why were you looking for me?" Leliana asked sharply, interrogating.

The girl, unable to fight it anymore, let her eyes close. "The Hero of Ferelden told me I'd find purpose with Sister Nightingale," she murmured on a soft breath.

Understanding dawned on her, and Leliana's face softened immensely and her fingers immediately fell from the hilt of her dagger. She gently brushed a few unruly red curls away from the girl's face as she smiled down at her – softly, tenderly, lovingly – and whispered to the girl, "I've been waiting for you."

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_9:39 Dragon_

_The White Spire_

Cole sat cross-legged on a wooden chair in the archives that was located in one of the White Spire Tower's many chambers.

"Am I the first person to ever see you?" Rhys asked casually as he moved a chess piece on the board that was lying on the wooden table between them.

Cole shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No."

Rhys watched his opponent lean forward and take his pawn. The senior enchanter placed his chin in the palm of his hand as he considered the chess pieces in front of him and the possibilities behind his opponent's maneuver. They were past the preliminary moves and were moving into the meat of the game.

"Really? Who saw you before?" Rhys asked while he considered taking Cole's queen.

Cole hesitated. "A girl."

Rhys lifted his head to look at the young man sitting across from him, his expression curious. "A girl?"

Cole scratched his cheek. "She was a spirit medium, like you."

"So… a girl, huh?" Rhys replied suggestively with an impish grin.

Cole looked back down at the chessboard, his pale cheeks holding a pink hue. "She saw me when most couldn't, and she remembered."

Rhys' head tilted. "What was she like?"

A look of melancholy crossed Cole's features. "Gentle. Bright. Alive."

The corner of Rhys' mouth lifted into a knowing smile. "Was she pretty?"

Cole's eyes lifted to pierce him beneath shaggy blonde locks, his eyes incredibly intense. "I did not know something so beautiful could exist."

Rhys was smiling broadly now. "What was her name?"

Cole hesitated, swallowed then swallowed again, unsure if he'd be able to say it out loud. The name was in his head every waking second of every day, her face lingering in the dark abyss of his unconscious at night while he slept. She was always with him in his dreams, but never in reality.

Rhys continued to stare at the young man, waiting, but the blonde didn't say a word, didn't move. Assuming Cole wouldn't answer, Rhys leaned forward to take his queen when Cole murmured so softly and almost unintelligibly, "Ember."

"Ember?" Rhys asked, not sure if that was the name Cole had whispered so quietly, so wistfully.

Cole gave one small nod of his head, eyes fixed upon the chessboard.

Rhys studied Cole's expression as he asked, "What happened to her?"

Cole looked away to stare out the window, staring up at the endless expanse of stars that dotted the night sky. He was quiet for a long time, the expression on his face one Rhys had never seen before.

"Cole? Did you hear me?"

"Look at all the stars. They are so very far away." The words escaped Cole on an exhaled sigh full of wistful longing. "The brightest one of them is gone."

Rhys didn't understand, but he found he usually didn't understand most of what Cole said. "Was she transferred to a different circle?" Rhys guessed.

"She was never in the circle," Cole answered simply, not looking at him, still staring out the window.

"She was an… an apostate?"

Cole nodded, staring up at the night sky. "She doesn't like walls. She likes to sleep under the stars."

Rhys shifted in his seat. "So, she was in the dungeons? When you saw her, that is?"

Cole nodded again, absently, while he watched one finger draw on the frost on the window.

"Was she made… Tranquil?"

Cole's finger stopped in its drawing. "She bears the mark, but not the curse."

Rhys' eyebrows drew together. "I don't know what that means."

Cole's gaze met his, his expression perplexed. "You can't stop a star from shining."

Rhys crossed his arms. "Cole, you need to work on your speech. You always speak in riddles. It's frustrating."

Cole returned to drawing on the frost on the window. "I'll try."

Rhys' fingers drummed on his arms. "So, what happened to her?"

Cole sighed as he looked at the picture he'd drawn, which Rhys noticed was a heart-shaped face with large eyes framed by long curly hair. "She… went away." The words sounded forced from his throat.

Rhys studied Cole's bleak and dismal expression, seeing the longing in his eyes as he spoke of the girl. "You could search for her, you know?"

Cole's eyes grew dark and unreadable. "If she's alive and safe, then she should stay away."

"Nothing is keeping you here," Rhys suggested gently. "You could find her if-"

"The last time she saw me she didn't want to look at me," Cole cut in sharply, his voice harsh with self-loathing, eyes flashing. "She saw a monster." His gaze returned to the window, though Rhys could see a muscle working in his tightly clenched jaw. "Let her forget."

Rhys placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands, resting his chin on top of them. "Is that what you really want?"

"No," Cole growled, low and harsh in his throat. "What I  _want_  is for her to remember me, to take that little piece of me with her…" His fingers pressed against the window, straining white against the glass, so much so that Rhys could hear the glass creak beneath the pressure. "I want some part of me, even if it is just my memory, to always be with her." Cole's head snapped back to the window, his jaw sawing back and forth, his eyes flinty in the moonlight as he irritably wiped away the picture he'd drawn on the frost.

Rhys was quiet for a while, unsure of Cole's mood. He'd never seen the young man act like this. "She was special to you."

"Special?" Cole asked, uncomprehending.

"Yes. You know, someone who means a lot. That's what she is to you, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's like…" Cole chewed his lip as he tried to put a difficult thought into words. "Do you remember the first puzzle we made together?"

"Yes."

"Remember how we couldn't find one of the pieces? How we searched and searched for it, but we couldn't find it? It was almost as if it didn't want to be found. But without that one piece, the rest of the puzzle couldn't be finished."

Rhys shook his head, uncomprehending. "I don't see how that relates to-"

"Without her, I'm not complete," Cole whispered, his eyes tortured, his expression forlorn.

Rhys' heart wrenched and he put a comforting hand on the young hand's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Cole."

"It hurts." His voice broke. "When does it stop hurting?"

Rhys' smile was sad. "I think it never completely stops hurting, but it doesn't hurt as much in time."

Cole nodded, thinking on that. Rhys gave his shoulder a light squeeze and the corners of Cole's mouth lifted slightly. "Thank you for being my friend, Rhys."

"Thank you for being mine, Cole."

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_9:40 Dragon_

_Kirkwall_

Crouched down on the balls of her feet with her elbows resting on her knees, hands dangling between her legs, Ember was perched on the rooftop of the Keep like a permanent fixture. The twenty-two year old surveyed Hightown from her spot on the roof of the Keep, the chill wind rustling her red curls as blue-green eyes watched the people gathered below.

The moon and stars were hidden behind a steady stream of clouds that left Hightown covered in a blanket of darkness. The dark clouds had been threatening snow all afternoon, the air heavy with anticipation of a winter storm, but nothing had materialized. It seemed the weather was as restless as her mood.

For the past three years she'd been the Left Hand of the Divine's apprentice and closest companion. She'd barely escaped the templars and the White Spire. She'd been barely alive when she'd finally tracked down Sister Nightingale in Valence. The Orlesian bard had taken her in and nursed her back to health. She'd taken care of her and protected her, keeping her identity as an apostate a secret.

Leliana had even sent a few of her people to the White Spire to destroy Ember's phylactery. But when they got there, they'd discovered someone had already taken it, along with every record of her. It was a miracle. No one would ever know she was a mage except for those who actually captured her. And Leliana, of course.

Ember's vow to never use magic was renewed after that. She promised herself she would never go back to the dungeons. She would rather die first. She only used her magic to conceal it from others, a skill she learned quickly was rare.

The Hero of Ferelden had been right when she'd told her that Sister Nightingale would give her life purpose. Leliana fed her, clothed her, put a roof over her head. She took her under her wing and trained her in the skills of a bard and a dualist. In time, Ember began to take on jobs and assignments for Leliana. Working for the Divine gave Ember purpose and something to believe in.

But after what had happened at the White Spire, Ember had retreated further into her shell. That last betrayal had cut the deepest. After a lifetime of betrayal by everyone she'd ever known, trust had become impossible. She kept to herself, only speaking to others when she had to. She lived alone. She ate alone. She went on missions alone. She was used to taking care of herself. She always had a dagger strapped to her calf and the instincts of a killer. It had taken years until she'd been able to let Leliana in, allowing the Orlesian bard to become her friend. Her only friend.

A cool midnight breeze blew, ruffling her clothes and her hair. Ember's eyes fell to Leliana. It was dark outside, but the full moon provided enough light for her to see the Left Hand of the Divine standing in front of the Keep with a large crowd of people. They all held candles, mourning the loss that had happened here exactly three years ago.

Ember watched as Leliana began to sing. The words were elven, but she understood them even so: they spoke of sorrow and loss. It was the most haunting and beautiful melody she'd ever heard. She suddenly remembered hearing it in the dungeons of the White Spire all those years ago, being sung by some lost soul.

Ember stood there on the rooftop of the Keep, brow knitted in confusion as the heart-wrenching melody floated up to where she sat on the roof of the Keep, rattling something loose in her mind. She suddenly dug into her tunic. From there she pulled out a small piece of parchment. She lifted the glowlamp sitting beside her and read it:

_His name is Cole._

_He's not that old, perhaps twenty years. No more._

_He has shaggy blond hair that hangs in front of his eyes and wears dirty leathers— perhaps the only clothes he owns. His eyes are blue, crystal clear, like melted ice. They are the most haunted eyes you've ever seen. He's tall and lean, as handsome as he is strange._

_He was there when you were locked in the dungeons of the White Spire. He talked to you, he helped you, he protected you. He brought you ratatouille to cheer you up, he got you a book of poems, he made you the necklace you wear around your neck. You liked him, trusted him, cared for him. He was your first kiss. No other will be like it._

_Nobody can see him, and those who do forget him. Just like you are doing right now. Remember the kiss. But also remember that he's the Ghost of the Spire. He killed a mage, an elven girl, right in front of your eyes. He said he'd done it before. He said he did it to feel alive. He most likely will again._

_Cole was your first love._

_Cole is a demon._

Ember lowered the parchment, closing her eyes and trying to cling to the memory. The kiss in the dungeons. She remembered everything about it – every touch of his hand, every brush of his lips, every breath he'd stolen from her. She remembered how she trembled, how her blood rushed in her veins, how weak she'd felt. But Cole himself slipped past her mind's eye. She couldn't see his face, or hear his voice. But she wanted to. Desperately. Though she shouldn't, she knew, as her eyes returned to the one word that stood out the most on the parchment.

 _Demon_.

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_9:40 Dragon_

_The White Spire_

A single man entered his dark and cold chambers in the White Spire Tower. A single candle burned on a nightstand beside an almost empty bottle of lyrium. Rain fell lightly on the roof above his head as he began to remove his templar armor.

The White Spire Tower had been his home for many years. As he'd grown as a man within its walls, so did his hatred for magic. He took pride in leashing the mages. He also took great joy in joining some of the templar hunters as they hunted down apostates, despite his title as Knight-Commander.

The White Spire had disbanded along with all of the other circles. All because of his own senior enchanter, Rhys, and that templar traitor Evangeline. But with the Circle of Magi no more, Lord Seeker Lambert had declared the Nevarran Accord null and void. Neither the Seekers of Truth nor the Templar Order now recognized Chantry authority. Lord Seeker Lambert was currently assembling an army and the pathetic mage rebellion would be crushed. Knight-Commander Eron couldn't be happier. He was glad to be apart of the destruction of the mages.

Knight-Commander Eron finished removing his armor and crawled into his bed, his sword resting against the bed's frame beside him. As sleep slowly came, he became aware of a sinister aura radiating from somewhere in the shadows of his room. His ears perked up as he heard the faintest creak of a loose wooden floorboard.

Immediately he reached for his sword by the bed, but before he could reach it something was upon him. A rough hand shoved him back down and he sucked in a sharp breath when he felt the cold steel of a dagger's blade press against his throat.

Eron's blood ran cold as he stared up into the stone cold face of a menacing young man with shaggy blond hair that hung into eyes of hardened blocks of blue ice. He recognized the intruder. The intruder matched the description Lord Seeker Lambert gave him of the demon calling itself the Ghost of the Spire.

"Demon," the Knight-Commander spat, and winced in pain as the blade pressed against his flesh.

The demon leaned close, a dangerous lethality coating the air around him. "You were the one who captured her. Beaten, bloodied, bruised, and starving you brought her here to be chained in blackness. To break her spirit you gave him her key, knowing he'd do to her what he did to all the others. But unbreakable, indomitable was she. Ink to paper you signed her name beside Tranquil. But you can't extinguish starlight, just as you can't cage a dragon."

"Lord Seeker Lambert knows about you!" Eron spat, the words sticking to the dry walls of his mouth. "He won't stand for this!"

"He was first." The demon's voice was so quietly deadly, Eron's insides flinched. There was no denying it. Right then, the infernal looking young man was the most dangerous, terrifying being Eron had ever encountered.

"W-What do you want from me?" Eron stammered.

The demon's upper lip curled, bearing white teeth that gleamed in the dim light the candle threw off. "I want you to look into my eyes."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_9:41 Dragon_

_Haven_

"…and then Alistair turned bright red with embarrassment. It was so adorable." Leliana giggled behind her glass of wine as she lay on her stomach on the bed in the room she'd rented for the night.

"And  _that's_  the king of Ferelden? Maker, help us all," Ember laughed as she lay on her back on the floor in front of the bed, her fiery red curls spread out around her head, and her glass of wine resting on her stomach.

Many people mistook the two women for sisters, what with their similar hair color, facial features, and eye color. But Ember's red hair was much longer, reaching the middle of her back, and was a wild mass of thick untamable curls while Leliana's was short and straight. Ember's eyes were a swirl of blues and greens, tempestuous like the ocean, while Leliana's were a cool, serene blue. Ember's facial features weren't as soft or delicate or comely as Leliana's. Ember's skin wasn't milky-white like the Orlesian bard's either, but rather was sun-kissed and dusted with light freckles. Ember's body was athletic with slender muscles and slight feminine curves as opposed to the Left Hand's soft hourglass frame and voluptuous figure. Leliana was also known as being one of the most gorgeous women in all of Orlais, while Ember was usually overlooked by men, not known for her beauty but for her fierceness in battle.

"Is something wrong, sweeting?" Leliana asked, worried. "You look more dour than usual."

"I'm worried," Ember confessed. "I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen at the conclave tomorrow."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because tomorrow is my birthday." Ember's expression was troubled. "Bad things always happen on my birthday." Aquamarine eyes met deep sapphire blue. "Do I really have to go tomorrow?" she whined.

"We've gone over this, sweeting. You're the best one to protect the Divine. You're now an exceptional rogue, but you are also a mage. You'll be able to sense if there is anything magically wrong." At Ember's pout, Leliana gave her an assuring smile. "You'll be fine."

Ember nodded, but the crease between her eyebrows didn't go away.

"Can I ask you something personal, sweeting?" Leliana inquired with a mischievous look.

Ember groaned. "Oh Maker, I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Have you ever been kissed?" Leliana asked with a wicked glance as she sipped her wine.

Ember choked on her own wine. "W-What?"

"Oh, don't be so shy, sweeting." Leliana giggled at the younger woman's blush. "You must have been kissed by now, no?"

"I had to kiss that elderly noble man on that one mission, remember? Bluck," Ember muttered, shaking her head, her expression pinched as if she tasted something bad in her mouth.

Leliana's eyes rolled. "I mean like a  _real_  kiss."

Ember found herself thinking once again of the shockingly powerful kiss of Cole. The strange, soul-shattering kiss she had received from the young man who was the Ghost of the Spire, lived in her memory like a rose preserved between the pages of a book.

At her continued silence, Leliana looked at Ember over the top of her wine glass, blue eyes dancing with impishness. "Tell me, has Cullen gathered enough courage to kiss you yet?"

Leliana chuckled as Ember's eyes widened and her mouth dropped in surprise, her curls shifting with the shaking of her head.

Leliana shook her head and sighed. Not in a disappointed way, but in a "we have a lot ahead of us" sort of way. "That poor little templar needs to grow some backbone when it comes to women."

Leliana's gaze returned to Ember and she snorted. "Oh, do not tell me you haven't noticed the way he watches you?" Leliana giggled at Ember's shocked expression. "Every time you look away, he stares at you with longing eyes."

"I had no idea." Ember's expression became vexed. "Great, now that I know, it will be really awkward around him."

Leliana's head tilted. "Has there been no one else?"

Ember frowned at her. "I'm not some great beauty like you, Leliana. Men do not throw themselves at my feet. They barely notice me."

"That does not mean you haven't locked lips with a few, no?"

Ember sighed as she tapped her finger on her glass. "The stable boy in Val Royeaux kissed me once. It was completely by surprise."

"No!" Leliana gasped. "Daylen?"

"Yup," Ember answered with a grimace. "It was terrible. He shoved his tongue so far down my throat that I gagged. Disgusting."

"That is terrible." Leliana frowned. "Maybe you haven't had a good kiss because you've been kissing the wrong sort?"

Ember raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying, dearest Leliana, that I should be kissing girls?"

Leliana's lips quirked. "Why not? It might be a solution to your little problem. You won't know until you try, no?"

Ember sighed. "I don't think that's it."

Leliana eyed her strangely. "Have you really never had a good kiss, sweeting? Not one?"

Ember hesitated. "There was… but it wasn't really a kiss."

"Oh?" Leliana's head lifted with interest. "And what was it?"

Ember sighed wistfully, unable to keep the longing from her voice. "Whatever it was… it was  _heart-stopping_."

"Ooohh," Leliana squealed girlishly, full of excitement, as she sat up and sat cross legged on the bed. "Tell me everything."

Ember shook her head. It was wholly unnerving how the memory still haunted her five years later. "It was just a dream."

"Oh, come on. Who was he?" Leliana urged.

Ember stared dolefully up at the ceiling of the bedchamber. "A ghost."

Leliana's stilled. "What do you mean?"

Ember bit her bottom lip. "He wasn't real."

Leliana's eyebrows furrowed. "Was he… imaginary? Like an imaginary friend?"

Ember's face hardened. "He was no friend of mine." Her blue-green eyes were more green as she turned her head on the floor and they clashed with Leliana's blue. "He was a murderer."

"So am I," Leliana pointed out. "So are you."

"That's different. We kill because we have to. He killed…" Ember's jaw tightened and her eyes flashed with anger and deepened with pain before she averted her gaze to stare up at the ceiling again.

"What?" Leliana pressed gently when she didn't continue.

Ember had to swallow a few times before she found her voice, and when she spoke, her words were soaking with bitterness and old pain. "He killed because he  _liked_  it. It made him feel  _alive_." Her fingers tightened on her glass. "And the worst part is I trusted him," she ground out. "I thought he was my friend. We talked about everything. I could tell him anything. I told him things I've never told anyone and he always understood. He never—" She stopped because, even as mellow as the wine was making her feel, she didn't want to share on this particular topic.

Leliana tossed her hand in the air. "Well, there you go. That's why you haven't had a good kiss."

Ember's head rolled on the floor toward the bard. "Huh?"

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Because you're still hung up on him, this ghost of yours. It's obvious, no?"

Ember bit her lip and looked at her wine glass, watching the red liquid. Leliana was wrong. Cole was nothing more than an old memory, deadened by time and tears. "He's merely an unwanted ghost in my dreams."

Leliana was quiet for a while. "Does this ghost of yours have a name, sweeting?"

Ember's face twisted with melancholy. It was hard to say his name out loud. Her lips did not want to form the word. "Cole," she finally forced herself to whisper, the name coming out on an uneven breath.

"Do you think you'll ever see this Cole again?"

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "I don't know. I don't think so."

Ember's face was still and her expression sorrowful yet wistful, and in such vulnerable repose Leliana felt a rush of sympathy for the young woman. "I'm sorry, sweeting."

"Don't be." Her voice was low and thick. "It was no more than a dream."

 **Author's Note** : The note Ember writes to herself to remember Cole is similar to the one Evangeline writes. There is a codex of it in the game. Also, Cole kills the White Spire's Knight-Commander in a way similar to how he kills Lord Seeker Lambert.


	8. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Part III - The Herald of Andraste**

_Though all before me is shadow_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide_

_I shall not be left to wander_

_The drifting roads of the Beyond_

_For there is no darkness in the Maker's light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_

_\- Trials 1:14_

_9:41 Dragon_

_Haven_

The Herald of Andraste laid on her back on the roof of the Chantry in Haven, hands behind her head, staring up at the endless expanse of stars that dotted the night sky. The bleak winter moon glistened off the pristine powder that covered the township of Haven. Moonlight skimmed the high edges of the snow-covered trees, brightening the sea of snow with its silvery light.

In the distance a coyote howled, the sound drifting to her on the winter breeze that smelled of ice. Her breath condensed in front of her face, snowflakes falling upon her, sticking to her eyelashes and reddening her cheeks. Long russet curls fanned around her head, still wet after having just bathed in the icy river that was nearby that cut through the Frostback Mountains. Others would be freezing, but the cold had never bothered her. She believed that exposure to the elements made you strong, made you able to withstand them when you needed to, when your life depended on it.

The twenty-three year old woman wore the uncomfortable, skin-tight beige outfit the Inquisition had given her along with her tan winter boots that were lined with fur. Her newly acquired obsidian armor was drying a few feet away after having been cleaned as well.

It was quiet up on the roof of the Chantry, peaceful even. The music and laughter from the celebration below was greatly muffled, leaving only the softly filtered sounds of nature to be heard amidst the sounds of merriment from below. The smell of wood burning and meat roasting drifted up to greet her along with the sound of logs popping in the heat of a fire.

Maker, she was utterly exhausted. She hadn't slept or eaten in thirty-six hours. But that was what life was like as the Herald of Andraste, which she felt was akin to treading water – continual motion without getting anywhere with the persistent threat of drowning looming threateningly over her head.

The Herald lifted her left hand in front of her face, studying the mark that was on her palm. Sometimes, like now, it was just a slanted green line cutting across her palm, almost like a green tattoo. But other times it glowed, bright emerald green, unknown power pulsing from it and shooting currents of pure energy through her system.

"Escaping already?" Cullen chuckled as he approached her on the roof.

The Herald sat up as she looked at him. "I'm not really one for parties," she replied, her breath billowing puffs of white mist in front of her face.

"Yeah. Me either," he replied as he slowly made his way across the roof toward her, sitting down beside her. The side of his body pressed against hers and she couldn't help but feel nervous and awkward with his closeness.

Ever since her conversation with Leliana the night before the conclave, Ember had decided to move on with her life and give Cullen a chance. They'd been shamelessly flirting for months now. They ate their meals together and spent the little amount of free time they had together. She liked Cullen. He was a nice man, if not a little obsessed with his work, and very handsome. Whenever he accompanied her on a trip to Val Royeaux, women swooned at the sight of him. She was very much aware of how much more attractive he was than her and it made her feel a little insecure and self-conscious.

The Herald looked at Cullen out of the corner of her, her eyes running over him, and she knew why she was attracted to him. He was tall and lean with blonde hair. But he wasn't tall enough or lean enough. His hair was too light a shade of blonde and cut too short. It wasn't thick enough, messy enough, and it didn't fall into his eyes. And his eyes… they were too small, too dark a color, the lashes not long enough or thick enough or sooty enough. His skin was too tan, his armor too heavy. He just wasn't-

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm," Cullen said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "The Breach is sealed. We've reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread." His eyes met hers. "What you did… it was amazing." He gave her a charming smile. "The things you've done… how do you do it?"

The Herald snorted. "Oh, you know, I put on my ugly, beige, big-girl pants one leg at a time."

Cullen laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You really hate that outfit, don't you?"

"Yes," Ember grumbled, fidgeting with the dreadful material. "It's too itchy and tight. And I hate beige."

Cullen's eyes met and held hers in the moonlight. "I think I could help you out of it," he suggested, his voice as sweet and rich as honey.

The Herald ducked her head to hide her blushing cheeks from him.

Seeing her blush, Cullen's eyes widened as he thought back on his wording and he began to stammer in mortification, "I-I… I meant into another outfit, of course. Not out of the one you are in. Well, maybe one day… I mean… wait, that's not what I meant… what I meant to say was… oh Maker, I'll just stop talking now."

They both returned to staring up at the stars, each embarrassed and blushing a furious shade of red. An owl hooted high above their heads as it took off from the branch it was perched on, the rustling of leaves echoing through the silence. They sat there in the moonlight, silent as the grave, for what seemed like an eternity.

"Ember…" Cullen's low voice broke the silence.

"Yes?" she asked as she turned to face him and was surprised to find him staring at her, his eyes a shade darker and his face set with resolve.

"I… I just…" He murmured. "…I just wanted to tell you that I… that I…"

The Herald opened her mouth to speak when his mouth came down and smothered her words. Her eyes were wide open, her body so rigid and stiff her muscles ached. She couldn't blink. She couldn't think. She couldn't respond to the lips that were currently gliding so expertly over her own, the stubble on his jaw scratching her skin. This was her fourth kiss and it was just as awkward as the two before it.

Before she could break the kiss, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as the light of the moon was suddenly blocked by something in the sky, casting the entire rooftop in complete darkness. A wave of unspeakable dread rushed over her as she caught the glint of onyx metallic scales in the night sky.

Realization dawned on her and it sent a chill down her spine that rippled throughout her entire body, her chest rising and falling quickly with her mounting fear.

With a wrenched cry, the Herald tore her mouth away from Cullen's and cried, "Dragon!"

"WHAT?!" Cullen exclaimed, his eyes jerking up to frantically search the sky before his mouth fell open in shock.

They balked as they watched a massive, scaly, black-skinned torso circle the Inquisition stronghold. The dragon roared as it spread its wings wide and floated over the heads of the Inquisition agents, mages of the mage rebellion, refugees, and Haven citizens celebrating in the courtyard in front of the Chantry. The bard's fingers fell dissonantly from the strings of her lute and an ominous silence fell upon the crowd as everyone looked toward the night sky.

And then all hell broke loose.

Everyone was screaming and scrambling, alarms were ringing, the mages' hands beginning to crackle with magic. Thankfully, the dragon flew away, heading for the mountain.

"Forces are approaching!" Cassandra yelled up at them. "To arms!"

They were on their feet in an instant. "We must get to the gates!" Cullen told her.

"So, celebratory drinks are on hold?" she quipped as she began donning her still wet armor while Cullen shouted commands down to the Inquisition soldiers below.

"Time for some thrilling heroics," the Herald sighed as she slid down the ladder, Cullen behind her, and together they rushed to the gates.

As she ran through the camp, she could hear the sound of swords crashing against swords over the walls. As the clang of sword against sword grew louder in her ears, she began hearing screams of death carried on the howling wind alongside flurries of snow. Adrenaline began coursing through her as she drew closer to the gates and the sounds of the battle grew louder. She could smell the metallic scent of blood, the tang of hot metal, and the acrid sweat of fear. As they approached the gates, she saw Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine waiting for them.

"Cassandra?" Cullen asked immediately as they skidded to a stop.

"It's an army!" Cassandra exclaimed as she pointed to the mountain. "One watch guard reporting it's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

"None."

"None?!"

"Where are the rest?" The Herald asked, searching for the others.

"Fighting," Leliana replied. "They're keeping whoever it is that's attacking from getting in."

"Was that a dragon?" Cullen asked, astounded. "I could have sworn it looked more like an-"

"Archdemon," Leliana supplied. "Yes, I thought so too."

"Whatever it is, it's cut a path for that army," Cassandra replied.

There was a loud banging on the front gate and the Herald jumped, startled by the loud sound right beside her.

"I can't come in unless you open!" a man yelled urgently through the door.

"Someone's out there! They need help!" she cried as she ran forward to open the gate.

"Herald, wait! It could be a trap!" Cullen yelled after her, but she'd already opened the gate.

She ran forward and came to a skidding halt in the snow as she watched an enemy's words turn into a gurgle of blood in his mouth as the tip of a blade exploded from the enemy's chestplate, right over his heart. The enemy toppled forward face-first to the snow, revealing the man's killer - a young human man in rough leathers with skin as pale as the moon, shaggy blonde hair hanging over his eyes, and fresh blood sprayed across the sharply carved angles of his face.

Her body automatically moved into a defensive stance as the young man approached her, crouched low and cautious, his body moving with the lithe type of grace found in the most dangerous predators. The fires from the nearby burning buildings blazed around him, casting their dancing shadows upon him, illuminating him in a soft glow. He was dangerous, she knew, for he held a wicked-looking dagger at the ready that was covered in blood and dozens of dead bodies surrounded him, his victims she assumed, and the air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood.

Her eyes traveled over him with keen interest. There was something about him that seemed oddly familiar, like he was someone she should know. Someone important. While she searched her memory for recognition, the young man's chin slowly lift and his eyes opened into hers.

Haunted, haunted eyes.

 _His name is Cole_.

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. Her surroundings, the Inquisition, the sounds of the battle and her advisors' chatter coming from the gates, just fell away in that moment. Her chest constricted as she fell head first into those deep blue pools of liquid azurite glittering in the firelight. Moving, breathing, thinking - impossible. She tried to drag in a breath, struggling for air while her heart was a staccato beat against her ribcage.

"Cole?" She hadn't realized she'd spoken until she heard the sound of her own voice saying his name in a low, breathy whisper.

"You… you remember me," he murmured quietly, his relief palpable, his gaze so soft on her face it made her heart stand still.

 _Remember the kiss_.

It all came back to her in a rush, her thoughts spinning backward in time to five years ago.

Cole closed the last remaining distance between them and the knot in her stomach swelled, pressing on her lungs. Her voice abandoned her. She fumbled for words that did not come. It was not possible, not with the way he was looking at her. Cole was staring at her -  _into_   _her_  – his gaze reaching into her own and pulling out her very soul.

Her lips parted on a silent gasp as he leaned into her, sucking up all the air she was already having trouble grasping. "I knew you wouldn't forget," he breathed, a puff of white mist forming in front of his mouth that fell onto her own before she breathed it in, too many emotions in his voice and face to define his expression or thoughts.

"Get away from her!" Cullen barked as he appeared beside her, his sword thrust forward toward Cole.

Cole scrambled back from her, his eyes not leaving the sword in Cullen's hand that was pointed threateningly at him.

"Stop!" She cried without thinking, and lunged toward Cullen, grabbing his sword.

"Get back, Herald. This creature is not what you think."

"I am me," Cole answered simply, eyes inscrutable. "My name is Cole."

_Cole is a demon._

The memories struck her then like a blow to her vitals. The memories of the last time she'd seen Cole - of him slaughtering that innocent mage girl - washed over her like waves of broken glass, each one stinging and leaving behind a laceration. An old wound long buried was suddenly ripped open inside of her. The hurt was still raw and fresh even after all these years, an unhealed wound festering inside her.

Her expression slowly darkened and twisted, transforming into a withering glare as she turned it upon Cole, and asked tartly, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Anguish shadowed his face, and those absurdly long lashes lowered over his eyes. "I know you don't want me here," Cole uttered in a small voice. "But I had to come. I had to warn you. To help," he explained urgently. "People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

Her brow became creased with deep lines, her mouth pulling tight. "What is this? What's going on?"

Cole moved closer to her. "The templars come to kill you." Her heart gave a fierce jolt at his low, husky murmur.

"Templars?" Cullen questioned, looking at her. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"These templars are different," Cole answered ominously. "They are red inside."

Cullen's gaze snapped to Cole. "What the hell does that mean?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One," Cole replied before turning to her. "You know him. He knows you. You took his mages." Cole's expression turned grim. "He's very angry that you took his mages."

A red templar rogue appeared out of a puff of smoke behind her, daggers raised. With a flick of his wrist, Cole sent a small dagger whizzing through the air before it flew straight through the side of the red templar's helmet, impaling itself in his temple. It completely tore into his skull, blood running out of his blood red eyes, killing him instantly. His body hit the ground behind her with a dull thud.

"We need to get inside the gates, it's not safe out here in the open!" Cullen yelled and the three of them ran inside, the gates closing behind them with a loud creak.

The Herald turned on the ex-templar. "Cullen, give me a plan. Anything!"

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "Haven is no fortress. Our positioning is not good. They'll kill everyone in Haven."

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole cut in. Ice blue orbs flickered to lock on hers, brutal in their intensity. "He only wants  _her_."

She averted her gaze to stare up at the mountain while a freezing wind blew from the north, a gust of flurry and ice. "If it will save these people, he can have me."

"He can't have you," she heard Cole murmur in a deadly whisper, his voice taut. "Besides, it won't help. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he'll crush them. He'll kill them anyway." Cole shuddered. "I don't like him."

Cullen was staring at Cole as if he'd grown two heads. "You don't like…?" Cullen exhaled sharply in exasperation, as if the sentence wasn't worth finishing, then turned to face her. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that could slow them down would be to turn the remaining trebuchets."

"But we're overrun," she countered. "To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."

Cullen's expression turned solemn. "We're dying, but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

Silence engulfed them then, a silence filled with ominous tension. Cole was looking at the Chantry doors where Chancellor Roderick was leaning heavily on Dorian's shoulder, his hand pressed against his stomach that appeared soaked with blood. "Chancellor Roderick knows a path. You wouldn't know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage as he has," Cole stated before looking at Cullen. "He is in the Chantry now. Dying. But he can show you the way. The people can escape."

"What about it, Cullen?" she asked.

Cullen stared at her, aghast. "You're not honestly suggesting we listen to  _it_?"

She frowned. "Just answer me. Could it work?"

Cullen rubbed his chin as he thought. "Possibly. If what  _it_  says is true and Chancellor Roderick shows us the path."

She nodded. "Good. I want you leading the way with Chancellor Roderick."

"What about  _it_?" Cullen asked with a nod of his head toward Cole.

They both turned to the young man, but found nothing but air.

"Hold on… where did it go?" Cullen asked. His eyes shifted to her. "Are you all right, Herald?" he asked with concern. "You're trembling like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," she replied sharper than she meant to. She softened her voice. "We're running out of time, Cullen. You need to get these people out of here."

Cullen's eyes left hers for a second before returning. "Which companions do you want to take with you?"

"None."

"None?"

"I will not ask the others to die."

"But… what of you? What of your escape?"

She looked away from him, not wanting him to see the truth she knew showed upon her face.

_There is no escape for me._

The thought left a desolate coldness lingering in her bones. She could feel the weight of hundreds of innocent lives weighing on her shoulders, crushing her under its weight. Something inside her sobbed at the injustice of it all. She really did have the worst sort of luck.

But then a strange sensation overcame her. It was calming. It was warm. It comforted her in a peculiar way. Her death may be imminent, but it would not be in vain. Courage coursed through her then, soon accompanied by strength. She would not stand by and watch her new friends, the Inquisition, the mages, the refugees, and the innocent people of Haven suffer and die merely because she was too scared to protect them, too scared to face death. She had to at least try.

_I'm going to die._

The Herald took a deep breath and let that irrefutable fact settle in her chest, accepting it. It slid down slowly like a piece of ice into her stomach where it melted and chilled her from the inside out, encasing her in ice, protecting her. She would not be a coward. By the Maker, her death would not be in vain!

"I'm meant for this." Determined, she lifted her head to meet Cullen's gaze, her aquamarine eyes flashing with power. "I'm not afraid."

Cullen stared at her, wavering somewhere between outrage, disbelief, and admiration. The Herald of Andraste was looking at him with quiet resolve, surprisingly calm for the card fate had dealt her. There was no fear in her blue-green eyes, not even a flicker of it. Grown men quivered in fear while staring into the face of death, but this young woman did nothing of the sort. Fear just seemed to piss her off more.

"Perhaps… you will surprise it and find a way," Cullen offered with hope ringing in his voice.

The Herald forced a smile. "You know me. I'm just full of surprises."

Cullen stepped toward her, hand outstretched as if he meant to touch her. "Ember…"

"Are the trebuchets loaded?" she asked, cutting him off as she stepped away from him.

Cullen's hand fell limply to his side. "Yes."

"Good. I'll keep the Elder One's attention until you're above the tree line. Once you're clear, give me the signal. And then I'll hit that force with everything I can."

Cullen nodded somberly. "If we are to have a chance, if  _you_  are to have a chance, let that thing hear you."

Without another word, the Herald of Andraste spun and marched out the gates, letting them close behind her with a heavy note of finality.

The sight that greeted her was frightening. A wave of red templars were charging straight for her.

She was only one.

The Herald stood tall in her obsidian armor in front of the gates, her feet ice cold in the snow. It was quiet now, the stillness of the silence as unsettling as it was calming, the people either dead or taking sanctuary in the Chantry. The snow was cold and smelled of winter as it fell unremittingly from the endless blackness above. The wind howled wildly causing the trees to rustle violently and snow to rise from the ground, forming small whirlwinds that danced along the open expanse of whiteness that covered the ground in front of her.

She took a deep breath and inhaled the crisp winter air. She was alone. There was no one to see her for what she was – a  _mage_  - and condemn her for it, or imprison her. Here, now, in her final hour she could unleash upon them everything she had, hold nothing back. She could be free. Herself. Allow the gift she was born with, the gift the Maker gave her, out of its cage for the first time in five years and show these red templars just what a mage could  _really_  do.

She reached her mind across the Veil and fire curled around her fists, the air crackling with magic. Power licked her spine, tingling in its wake. A thrill zipped through her system, sparking parts of her to life she'd long thought dead. She smiled up at the stars, snowflakes falling from a black sky to land lightly upon her cheeks and out stuck tongue. Instantly she felt better, happier, than she had in years. The freedom to be oneself was the greatest feeling in all the world. If she was to die, she would die who she was and she would take these red templars with her, one last bow before the curtain fell.

The red templars were closer now, their weapons raised high, some already coated with the blood of innocents and mages. Ember's chin tucked, her eyebrows slashing low over her greenish blue eyes as dark crimson curls framed her heart-shaped face. The corners of her mouth slowly pulled into a wicked smirk. "Time to get loud."

Her hands slowly lifted in front of her body, fire crackling around them. Manipulated flames licked from the air by her hands, splitting madly and racing through the air to greet the approaching enemy. With a shout she threw her hands forward and deadly fire rained down on the red templars - men burned, screaming horribly, while flames bit and burned at their armor and skin.

A few red templars got through. She pulled her daggers from their hilts and spun them once in her hands as she had come accustomed to doing before a fight, but this time she summoned flames to coat the steel. With sleek litheness, Ember rushed forward to meet them, her blades on fire.

"Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame…"

With a flick of her wrists, she sent both daggers flying forward toward the closest templars. One lodged itself in one's Adam's apple, the other driving into one's chest. She kept running and yanked her daggers out of the templars' bodies before they hit the ground, her steps never slowing, never faltering.

"Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side."

A dozen of templars rushed her and she spun around to face them, her long red curls wrapping around her slim stomach, the words of an enchantment falling from her lips. A traveling cyclone of lightning emerged and spun towards the group of templars, sucking them into the destructive force, spinning them and electrocuting them. The smell of burnt flesh and screams filled her senses, but she paid them no heed.

She didn't think. She just moved.

After a few attacks and blocks, red templars surrounded her, rushing her, and she spun in a tight circle, daggers extended, slashing at anything that came close to her.

Ten bodies fell at her feet.

A sword came slashing downward and she dodged before snapping her wrist forward, flicking her dagger at the templar's shoulder like a whip. The point of her dagger passed through his shoulder and he stumbled backward. She ripped the blade free and ducked under a swinging axe before coming up to lodge her dagger in the man's ribcage, the steel of the blade puncturing his heart.

An arrow came whizzing toward her and the Herald side flipped out of its path. The archer pulled another arrow from her quiver and aimed, but before she could release the arrow, the Herald rose and simultaneously lifted a smaller dagger from her belt and with a flick of her wrist sent it flying, the small dagger imbedding itself in the archer's throat.

The Herald heard the sound of lowly muttered words and she spun around to find a Tevinter mage muttering a spell as he extended his arm toward her. She dove to her right, avoiding the jet of sparks that shot from the sorcerer's fingertips. She threw her hand out in front of her and a ball of fire flew out of it, hitting the mage square in the chest and burning him alive.

Waves of soldiers rushed her, but Ember was faster. Her movements were graceful as she feinted and dodged, her attacks swift and powerful. She drew on every lesson Leliana had taught her, relying on the bard's words like a lifeline. Everything was a blur. Her mind was numb, body moving on pure instinct as her daggers slashed into the bodies that surrounded her, her hands moving to quick for her own eyes to follow. Blood sprayed across her armor, splashing across the snow turning it crimson, corpses filling the field of battle around her, the ranks of the red templars visibly thinning before her eyes.

But then another wave came. And then another. And then another.

Maker help her, they just kept coming. They were endless.

One templar tackled her to the ground but she swiftly lashed out with a spell, flinging the attacker back into a tree with enough force to shatter his bones. Another was already upon her, but she was on her feet in a flash, swinging her blades up into his chest with all of the force she could muster. Her blades tore through his armor and sunk into his flesh with a sickening thud that vibrated all the way up to her shoulders. She gave the daggers one more shove, driving them in to the hilt. Blood gushed from the wounds and onto her hands.

She pulled the daggers free right as a sword sliced across her shoulder from behind. She hissed in pain and brought her head around, using her long hair to her advantage. The heavy mass of curls slapped across the templar's face, granting her a distraction that allowed her to plunge her dagger into his exposed neck. One sword came swinging toward her in a whistling cut at her face and she was forced to bend backward to avoid it, like a dancer sliding under a pole.

When her back snapped straight the assault came without warning. A hard-knuckled fist smashed against her soft right cheek. Reeling sideways, she staggered, mouth open, blood flowing from a torn lip. The kick of a steel-toed boot rammed into her diaphragm. She doubled over in agony, unable to breathe. Her chest muscles squeezed painfully as she tried to suck in oxygen. A crushing blow to the face twisted her backward onto the snow. Spatters of warm, red blood gushed from her mouth and nose as the back of her head cracked against the ground. The Herald groaned in pain, her mouth open and bloody. The world was spinning around her, her body and mind lost in a stuporous daze.

She dug deep down into the reserves of mana within her, deeper than she ever had before. With a cry, she held up her hands and unleashed a torrent of magic. The wave of force that expanded from her sent every red templar flying back, as if they weighed nothing. Every building in Haven shook, and for a single moment she felt exhilarated. The mark on her hand was glowing bright green. The power… it was like nothing she had ever tapped into before. It flowed through her veins, filling her up. It would be so easy to do more. The strange power of the mark was at her fingertips, beckoning her to use it for the first time. She'd only ever used the mark to close the rifts, but it wanted to do more. So much more.

With a cry, the Herald of Andraste threw her hand forward and green sparks flew from it as the Veil tore and a rift formed above the heads of at least fifty red templars. Screams, loud and shrill, was all she could hear as they were sucked into the Fade, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The rift closed in on itself and the Herald fell to her knees in the snow, breathing hard from the exertion and the power. She looked down at the mark on her hand, utterly amazed she'd been able to form her own rift. She drew in deep breaths as she used the back of her hand to wipe the blood that was dripping into her eyes from the cut that split her eyebrow. Her tongue tenderly touched the split in her lip and tasted copper, her cheek already swollen from the blows to her face.

Knowing reinforcements would be upon her soon, she forced herself to her feet. A shiver of cold raced through her as she ran for the trebuchet. Snow illuminated white on the ground in front of her as her footsteps flew over the white powder. Soft pillows of snow bunched beneath her boots. Her scarlet curls caught the wind and whipped around her face, the bright red of her hair haunting against the milieu of snow that surrounded her. She looked over her shoulder as she ran to see another wave of red templars in the distance.

Once she reached the trebuchet, she threw a hand back behind her, muttering a spell Bethany Hawke had taught her. A sparkling wall of pure force rose up between them, the red templars slamming against it uselessly. She turned her back to them and quickly aimed the trebuchet.

Behind her, Knight-Captain Denam reached the wall of force. He channeled his own power, shattering it with a single blow of his sword. Hot pain flashed through her, but she didn't stop her task. With one last turn, the trebuchet was fully aimed for the mountain but before she could trigger it, a blast of force struck her. She was lifted off her feet, tumbling head over heels. With a grunt she landed on her stomach several feet away in the snow, and for a moment all was blackness.

The red templars were upon her in an instant, beating her with heavy metal boots, metal gauntlets, and sword hilts. She curled into herself, her screams muffled by the beating she was taking. She tried to summon mana, reached desperately down for power— anything at all— but her head and body only reeled in agony. Hot metal pierced her side and her throat released a pain-filled scream, and her fingers dug into the snow beneath her, fingers numb from the cold. She was overwhelmed with a familiar feeling - a creeping, aching, crawling feeling - that made her feel weak, worthless, utterly useless.

There was a sudden whooshing sound in the air above her, the sound of something moving very quickly in the air followed by the sound of the slashing of clothes and flesh. She looked up to find a dozen red templars fall dead around her, their throats slit.

Blue-green orbs widened as they landed on Cole crouched protectively in front of her. His eyebrows were pulled low and tight over dark-fringed, stormy blue eyes as piercing as a feral wolf's as they surveyed the approaching red templars with the promise of death.

Shock and panic rose quickly within her. "Cole…?" she whispered, her voice dry and cracking, her breath billowing puffs of white mist in front of her face.

"I won't let them kill you." His voice was low and rasping, the words sounding as if they'd been dragged up from the depths of his chest. Anger wasn't even close to what she saw on his face - it was much scarier.

One of the red templars gave a signal and the rest charged them at once. She tried to summon mana, but she had nothing left. With nimble dexterous fingers, Cole spun the daggers expertly in his hands before he became nothing more than a flicker in the moonlight. The only warning the red templars got was his blades flashing with lethal intent before they delivered death.

The Ghost of the Spire striked so suddenly and moved so fast he was just a blur of movement, and sometimes nothing at all, as he appeared and disappeared behind his enemies out of nothing but air. He would materialize behind a templar, and then there would be a flashing of steel and the spraying of blood as he attacked his unsuspecting victim. Then, in the blink of an eye, he would vanish into thin air just as quickly as he appeared. He was fast, so fast, and the red templars weren't able to follow him, and neither was she. He was like a shark moving amidst clueless swimmers. Unseen. Cold-blooded. Deadly.

Her breath caught as one very large templar shouted and charged at Cole from behind, double-handed sword raised over his head. She was about to call out a warning when Cole spun around and threw one dagger at the man. The point of the blade sank into the massive man's gut and the man stumbled back, staring down in shock at the blood-soaked steel sticking out of his stomach.

Cole turned and landed a swift kick to an approaching templar's stomach and the man doubled over. Cole rolled across the man's bent over back and pulled a hidden dagger from his boot while he did so. Cole stood and with a flick of his wrist sent the dagger flying into the Adam's apple of the archer that was aiming an arrow at his heart.

Cole rushed forward and ripped his dagger out of the massive man's stomach, who was still staring dumbfounded at the blade sticking out of his gut. Cole spun on the balls of his feet in the snow, using the momentum to cut the massive man's head from his shoulders, his head rolling off his bulky shoulders to land with a thud in the snow before the rest of his body followed.

The only sound that echoed around her was the clang of metal, the grunts of pain, the rasping of effort, and the whimpering of death. Sweet Andraste, Cole was the best damned killer she'd ever laid her eyes on. He killed with such deadly, silent efficiency, giving nothing but taking everything.

The Ghost of the Spire swiftly brought his daggers up to deflect the two swords aimed for his head and a ringing clang of metal hitting metal echoed in the clearing where the battle was taking place. Cole shoved the swords away and lunged forward, slashing his daggers across both their throats, cutting through bone and muscle. In an instant, flesh tore and blood sprayed. Both men's hands wrapped around their weeping throats before they crumbled to the snow. Cole spun to the right to bring his dagger up to meet a sword's downswing and shoved it away. With unimaginable speed, Cole spun back to check one sword with his dagger before whirling away from a second. He ducked under a blade swiping at his neck and drove his own deep into the man's stomach, intestines spilling out onto the snow. The man toppled as Cole smoothly pulled his dagger free to block another man's feint. He twisted smoothly and easily deflected a thrust and brought the point of his blade forward to ram into the man's exposed gut before embedding it in the ribcage of the last remaining templar.

A war cry beside her caused her eyes to snap from Cole to the red templar who was running toward her with his sword extended. Before she could arm herself, Cole seemed to impossibly flicker behind the man and sever his jugular with a clean swipe of his dagger.

Wide-eyed she stared at the corpse at Cole's feet before her eyes lifted to his face to find him watching her with great intensity. He didn't look away when she stared back at him. His eyes flickered down to stare fixatedly at the gash in her armor where bright red blood was pouring out of the stab wound she'd received and spilling into the snow around her. A frisson of dread danced down her spine as she saw how much blood she'd lost, as a fair amount of the snow around her was stained crimson.

Cole bent over and put her arm around his shoulders while his arms went around her torso, and he gently eased her up. Ember hissed in pain but together they managed to get her to her feet. Once she was standing, she staggered a little from blood loss, and she had to lean heavily on Cole causing his arms to tighten around her middle.

A flare shot into the air above the tree line in the distance. The Herald sighed with relief. It was Cullen's signal. The people were free. They'd made it.

"We… have to get to the… the trebuchet… and trigger it…" she breathed heavily as he walked her to the trebuchet, her hand pressed firmly against the wound at her side to staunch the flow of blood. Maker, she'd given anything to know healing magic right now.

Snow crunched beneath their feet with each step they took, and after a few she murmured, "Cole?" She looked up at him as they shuffled forward, snow dusting her crimson curls and eyelashes.

Cole's chin turned fractionally toward her. Thick, tousled honeyed locks fell carelessly over his chiseled face and into eyes so clear a blue that she could see the tiny flecks of white that were sprinkled within those cool irises.

"Why are you here, Cole?" Her voice shook, carrying to him on a gentle gust of wind as he helped her walk. "Why didn't you escape with the others? Why did you stay behind? This is my time to… to…" Her voiced faded to nothing as the wind whipped flurries of snowflakes around them, over them, past them causing her long red curls to wrap around her slim waist.

His hair blew across his forehead with the winter breeze as those haunted eyes bored into her with that impenetrable intensity that rattled her nerves. "I promised that no one was ever going to hurt you."

A massive black dragon with black scales like sharpened scythes, claws like spears, and teeth like swords landed in front of them, causing a small shockwave to erupt from the beast that shook the ground and knocked them backward into the snow. The dragon unfurled its massive wings that blocked out the moon, casting everything beneath them in blackness. The beast raised his head to the midnight sky and let loose an earth-shattering roar that shook the ground. The dragon's head turned to them and sucked in a breath before unleashing hellfire.

The Herald dove to the right out of the path of the great jet of fire while Cole was forced to dive to the left. A wall of fire separated them, but she hardly noticed as a monster unlike any she'd ever seen stalked toward her out of the dragon's fire.

Maker, it was a towering humanoid creature tainted with the blight. The thing was huge, as tall as an ogre, with large chunks of molten stone or a mage's cowl sticking out the side of his gaunt face. The flesh of his torso was torn and missing, revealing pieces of bone and red sinewy muscle. A large protruding piece of black metal or armor was sticking out of his chest. The rest of his body was covered in what looked like ancient magister's robes and large black feathery pauldrons covered his bony shoulders. The monstrosity was mutated, skeletal, and grotesque. An evil transfigured creature spat up from the depths of hell.

Dread and terror settled heavy like stones in her belly as the creature approached her and the dragon roared at her back, blocking her retreat, jaws snapping at her.

"Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken no more," the atrocity growled at her in a low voice that rumbled down upon her like distant thunder. The Elder One cast his eyes upon her, as if judging her worth and finding it lacking. "Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name Herald. I am more than you could ever be."

"And what is that, exactly? A hurlock?" she retorted, scared out of her wits but refusing to show it. "You're a darkspawn. Dark…spawn…" she said the words slowly, stretching out the syllables as if he were dimwitted. "You know, ravaging the Deep Roads, spreading the Blight. Does this ring a bell?"

"Ignorant fool," he spat. "I am no mere darkspawn. Do you not see a god before you? Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus." A skeletal hand extended toward her with long black claws. "You will kneel."

Ember made sure to enunciate properly. She was in the presence of a false god, after all. "Go. To. Hell."

The chuckle that escaped him was dark, the sound like malevolence scraping against a blackboard of evil. "You shall be the one entering the Black City. As soon as I get what I came for, what you stole from me. I am here for the Anchor." Corypheus lifted an orb in his hand, red energy surrounding it. "The process of removing it begins now."

His ghastly hand extended toward her and the mark on her hand glowed bright green, power from the Fade swirling around her hand. White-hot pain burned bright behind her eyes. Ember screamed, the sound echoing around her as she fell to her knees in the snow. She could see her veins glowing emerald green beneath her skin.

"W-What is this thing?" she gasped.

"A tool to assault the very heaven."

"What is it meant to do?"

"Aid me in championing withered Tevinter and correcting this blighted world." A nasty, malevolent smile curved his mouth. "Beg that I succeed, for I have entered the Golden City, seeking the power of the gods themselves. But it was… black… corrupt."

The Herald felt a sharp jolt of dismay and horror surge through her. "You… you were one of the first darkspawn. It was you and your kind who trespassed into the Maker's city and brought the Blight down on all of us!"

"Do not speak to me of your Maker," Corypheus hissed at her. "I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty. You owe  _me_  fealty."

Her face wrenched with anger, her aquamarine eyes shredding into his with their vehemence. "You are no god," she spat. "Your arrogance blinds you. I will enjoy humbling that pride of yours when my smile is the last thing you see on this earth before I separate your head from your pitiful body, just like any other mortal."

In the blink of an eye, he was upon her. His hand shot forward, elongated claws clamping tight and unyielding around her neck like an iron shackle as he lifted her easily off the ground. "The Anchor is permanent. You have ruined it with your stumbling."

Ember gasped and struggled for breath, her feet dangling above the ground, her punctured side raining droplets of blood that spattered the white snow on the ground beneath her.

"So be it. I will begin again. I will find another way to give this world the nation, and god, it requires."

She forced the words out past the hand on her throat. "My horse - is more god - than you."

"I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die." The creature vowed, eyes hard and uncompromising, knuckles white from his iron like grip on her neck.

Ember clawed at the immovable hand on her throat, wheezing, her face red and her eyes bulging under the forceful grip. Blackness fringed her vision as air refused to reach her lungs.

Suddenly, there was the tremendous grinding of chains and the loud creak of wood as someone unseen fired the trebuchet.

"What treachery is this?!" Corypheus bellowed as he turned to see that the trebuchet had hit its mark on the top of the mountain, the sharp movement causing him to drop the Herald in the process.

The Herald fell to the ground in a heap, clutching her throat and coughing as she gasped for air. She stumbled, pushing herself to her feet and pulling free the dagger she always kept strapped to her calf. Sweaty crimson curls blew across her face, her blue-green eyes burning like purgatory as she lifted the blade in her hand and rushed the false god while his back was turned.

A hand shot out and grabbed her hip from behind. With a sharp and powerful tug, she was yanked backward, her back colliding with the solid wall of a hard chest.

"No," she heard Cole whisper almost inaudibly in her ear. "It won't work, and you will die."

She tried to get away from him, tried to use the weapon on the Elder One, but Cole's fingers dug into her hipbone, holding her in place. When she continued to fight him, trying desperately to get free, his free hand came around her body to press against her belly and forced her back against him so she couldn't get away. Her heart lodged in her throat and her breathing came faster as his body pressed against her from behind.

Corypheus spun around to face them and every cell in her body stilled, waiting for the death she knew would come. But death did not come. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. The Elder One was seething his head whipping this way and that as he frantically searched for the threat he could not see.

Then she felt it: a power so faint she barely noticed it was there. It was a hush that surrounded her like a blanket, thick and smothering.

And it came from Cole.

She turned her head to look up at him and saw Cole's eyes clamped shut. He was concentrating hard, a trail of blood seeping out of his nose.

He was making them invisible, she realized.

"Cowardly mortal!" Corypheus screamed, his voice cracking with his anger.

Her gaze snapped back to Corypheus, afraid he'd seen them. Violence and rage emanated from the Elder One's mangled form in rippling dark waves, but he stared straight through them.

"Come out, Herald! I know you're there!"

She tried to hold her breath, not wanting the darkspawn to hear and locate them. But her breathing was erratic. It couldn't be helped. Her eyes clenched shut and her knees became weak as she smelled the heat that rose from Cole's skin that was laced with a potent mixture of leather, cinnamon, sweat, smoke, blood and something musky and male that was entirely  _him_. His body was surrounding her in warmth, charging the air with thick unseen tension that was so tangible it split her nerves, fraying them with each pulsing second as they stood perfectly still in the snow.

While Corypheus searched for them, her heart began battering her ribs as she felt Cole shift behind her. A tremor shook her as hot breath fanned across the nape of her neck just over the brand of the Chantry's sunburst. He lingered there and then she heard his deep intake of breath and could feel the tip of his nose against her nape. Goosebumps erupted all over her arms and neck as his body pressed closer, the entire length of him molding to the back of her. A warmth like no other she'd ever felt before began to gather at the pit of her stomach before slowly spreading out to her limbs in a trail of fire.

With a roar of rage, Corypheus ordered a harsh command to the dragon and the beast lowered its wing to scoop him up before taking flight to the sky once more.

The Herald of Andraste stood still, unmoving, despite the Elder One's disappearance. Cole was close. So close. Too close. She couldn't think straight. Couldn't stop her head from spinning. Couldn't see clear. After a few deep breaths she was able to clear her mind somewhat and gather some of her scattered senses. It was then that she noticed something in the distance. It was dark out, nothing but the full moon shinning against the midnight sky, casting a silver aura on the whiteness blanketing the earth and trees. Her eyebrows pulled together as she squinted, trying to see into the darkness. Around her, she heard the horrid hissing of the snow.

After a few seconds, her eyes slowly widened as she spotted a huge wave of snow far in front of her. Her face fell, her eyes stricken with terrible distress and panic that was tearing her apart inside as she watched a thick cloud of snow-dust preceding the thundering of the foremost part of the avalanche that was coming toward them.

 _Fast_.

A sharp pain lanced through and she cried out as she doubled over, one hand pressed against the gash in her side, blood seeping warm and wet between her fingers. Her heart sank, as if it were strapped to a stone and tossed into a river. "Go," she ordered through clenched teeth, the pain excruciating. "Run, Cole. Run as fast as you can." Her eyes met his, bleak and hollow, her face pale, her breathing shallow. "If you run now, you'll still be able to make it."

Cole's answer was taut silence, a dark veil falling across his face that was now harsh with strain.

"Go!" Ember yelled at him, her voice edged with steel. " _Now_."

In one quick motion, Cole bent and slid his arms under her, one under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and lifted her effortlessly before turning and running as fast as he could away from the wave of snow that was rushing after them.

"No, no, no…" Ember cried out, wincing in pain as her wound pinched and began bleeding freely. "I'll just slow you down. You won't make it. Leave me.  _Leave me_!"

Cole looked down at her with faint lines of pain etched around his mouth before he looked forward again, eyes narrowed in concentration, face set with resolve as his speed increased.

Cole ran.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Frozen rain swirled and spiraled violently to the ground around him. Under the sheet of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, causing the ground to be slick under his feet as he tried to out run the approaching avalanche, his sweat crystallizing on his brow. He breathed in short, explosive, gulps as he desperately sought more air. His legs were numb and unsteady, and each step he took was becoming increasingly more difficult to manage, his lungs starting to burn. Ember moaned in pain, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. The sounds of her pain and the sight of her blood fueled his movement and propelled him forward.

The speed of the avalanche increased rapidly and before long the ground on which Cole ran began to move slowly beneath his feet. A wave of snow crashed right behind them and Cole stumbled before falling backward into the snow. Cole pulled Ember protectively into his chest, falling with her in his arms. A dizzy sort of fear came over her as they were carried down the hill with the snowy wave, until they rolled into an open tunnel used for excavating rare metals.

In midair, Cole pulled her closer to him and rolled on his back right before they landed on the ground below, his back taking the brunt of the fall. They landed underground with a heavy thud, the air rushing out of Cole's lungs and blowing the hair back from her face. Cole groaned, pain etched into his features, his breath coming in short quick gasps as he sought to get the air back into his lungs.

The Herald's tightly closed eyes slowly opened to find herself lying on top of Cole, his arms wrapped securely around her. She stared at her hands that were pressed against his chest. They were trembling, the strong pounding of his heart beneath her palm. Her eyes slowly lowered and heat rose to her cheeks as she noticed the entire length of her body was pressed against the hard planes of his. She slowly dragged her eyes up his chest, his neck, his chin, until she reached his eyes.

Cole was staring down at her, wide-eyed and fearful, blatant concern reflected in the icy blue depths of his eyes.

"I'm… I'm a-alright," she stammered softly, answering the unspoken question in his eyes.

Cole's body visibly relaxed, relief crossing his features. After a score of heartbeats, his eyebrows slowly drew together. His eyes filled with a great sorrow that spoke of past pain that still lingered. His eyes shifted back and forth between hers, stroking the depths of them as he slowly reached up and ghosted a finger against a stray curl of red hair that hung over her eye. His finger lingered on the skin of her cheek, as if he couldn't bear  _not_  to touch her, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

Something cold fell on her back and the Herald looked over her shoulder to see a mountain of snow falling through the opening above them. She gasped and quickly reached deep down inside and summoned mana. The pain was incredible, almost blinding, but she fought through it with sheer will alone. With a shout of exquisite agony, she threw her hand up and a shield formed around them right before the avalanche of snow fell on them.

Her eyes were clenched, her body shaking, grunts of pain leaving her as she fought to keep the shield above them that was being trampled by endlessly falling snow that was slowly pilling up on top of the shield. She screamed as the last vestiges of strength left her.

As fast as lightening, Cole wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over so he was on top of her, her hips cradling his. Cole covered her head with his hands, using his body to shield her. Her eyes opened to see her shield disappear over Cole's shoulder and the mountain of snow fall on top of them. She turned her head at the last second and tucked her face into his neck with her eyes clenched shut as the snow fell on top of them, burying them. Snow fell heavy on the side of her face sending an icy blast shooting through her, chilling her to her bones.

Panic settled in as she realized they were buried alive beneath what had to be at least ten feet of snow. Maker, they were going to freeze to death. Her fear spiked and her chest burned with the dry, cold air she was drowning in like life. She felt dizzy, nauseated, horror edging to the surface.

She forced herself to calm, her pulse to slow, her panic to ebb. She had to remain calm. Hysteria, she had learned a long time ago, was a useless reaction. After a calming inhalation, she caught the heady scent of leather, cinnamon, and heat. On a breathy sigh, she let the tip of her nose trace the line of his strong jaw and breathed in the scent of his skin. Her teeth were chattering, causing her lips to quiver against the warm flesh of his throat. She felt Cole's arms tighten around her, clutching at her, holding her tightly, as if he feared she would slip away. On a ragged whisper she heard him murmur her name and the sound of it escaping his throat on the fearful, lowly, lonesome tones of his voice pulled at something tender inside her heart. And then blackness reached up and claimed her _._

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Rebirth_  by Two Steps From Hell.


	9. A Wall Full Of Stars

_Blessed are the righteous_

_The lights in the shadow_

_In their blood the Maker's will is written_

_\- Benedictions 4:11_

In the tallest tower of the Skyhold fortress, the Inquisitor stood on her balcony staring out at the most majestic view of the Frostback Mountains. The lightly descending snow was falling softly upon the snowy paths and roofs of Skyhold, coating the Inquisition stronghold in a fresh layer of crisp white powder. The vibrant scarlet of her hair shined like a beacon in the vast whiteness that surrounded her and her greenish blue eyes sparkled in the first rays of sunlight.

Skyhold, or Tarasyl'an Te'las in ancient elvish, meant "the place where the sky is kept." Whatever name you wished to call it, to Ember, it was home. A smile bloomed on her face as she ran her hand along the stone railing. She hadn't had a home since she was eight-years-old. Ever since then she'd been running, hiding, evading capture and the dungeons. Even when she found Leliana, they'd been constantly living on the move as was required of the Left Hand of the Divine. Once Ember was able to go on her own missions for Leliana, she was constantly living on the road. To finally be able to call something her own, to feel safe, to have a  _home_  was… there were no words. After all the years of running and hiding from the templars it was nice to feel like she belonged somewhere, even if it was just for a little while.

Ember was also thankful for the people she had with her. Leliana was like a sister to her and she wouldn't be able to do this without her by her side. She visited her mentor in the fortress rookery often, seeking guidance, laughter, and companionship.

Ember had gotten to know Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine over the years she'd been an agent of the Left Hand of the Divine. She trusted them, and she did not trust easily. With each of them, what you saw was what you got. They had their beliefs and convictions, but they were open-minded enough to bend when needed. As for the others, she'd only met them a few months ago, but she could honestly say that they were a strange bunch.

Varric was undoubtedly her favorite. Brilliant, funny, charming and cunning the dwarf could be running Orzammar, the Merchant's Guild, or the Carta, but wisdom made him prefer the shadows, avoid the spotlight, choose to be overlooked. He had a kind heart and good intentions, but had made some hard decisions and been through so much. A heart could only take so much loss before it had to put a wall up to protect itself. He reminded her of herself, a kindred spirit. Sometimes he would see her enter Skyhold after a long mission and he would stop her, get them a few pints of ale, and have her vent her frustrations until she was laughing, feeling lighter, and blissfully drunk. He'd become a dear friend and she was thankful to have him.

Sera was just a child. She was barely eighteen-years-old. But Ember liked her. She was bold, playful, funny, and colorful. She lacked a proper education, but had spirit. Ember had been like that before she found Leliana. Ember would seek the archer out at the Skyhold tavern when she needed to be reminded that the world was more than just rifts, blood, duty, and death. Sera helped her feel her age and to loosen up, do something fun for a change.

As for Iron Bull… Maker help her… the moment that gigantic Qunari saw her long flowing, vivid red curls… well, he'd been trying to get her into bed every since. Despite having to refuse his advances at every turn, she liked Bull. He was strong, courageous, humorous, and dependable. He may be an agent of Ben-Hassrath, but he'd told her that the moment he'd met her and because of that she trusted him more than others.

Blackwall was lying to her. She didn't know why or what about, but he was lying to her. She didn't trust him. She refused to speak with a man who was lying to her. She only visited him at the stables when she absolutely had to, and even then she always came armed.

As for the mages, Ember avoided them. She was afraid they'd detect her magic and expose her as a mage. Despite her avoidance of them for her own personal reasons, she found herself liking Dorian and Vivienne. Dorian was smart, charming, brave, and unapologetically Tevinter. In a nation known for being a land full of monsters, he definitely was the exception. Ember hoped that Tevinter would see him as an inspiration and not as a threat.

Vivienne was similar, except unapologetically Orlesian. Ember couldn't help but admire the Circle mage for she had manipulated the system into granting her power and protection that few other mages were ever able to achieve. She'd bought her freedom from the templars, and Ember wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly it was Vivienne had given up in exchange for that freedom.

Solas was not who he appeared to be, of that she was absolutely positive. Other than that, she knew she couldn't trust anything he said or did. There was no doubt in her mind that Solas was the most powerful creature she'd ever encountered. She avoided the atrium beneath the library just as much as she avoided the stables.

The Inquisitor placed her chin in her palm as she relished the splendid view of the mountains from her balcony. The sun was barely rising in the sky, its golden rays skimming the high edges of the mountaintops, brightening the sea of white with the advent of dawn. She knew she should head to the training grounds, she needed to become stronger, but she hadn't stopped to watch the sun rise in so long and this one was… spectacular.

The golden rays of the sun made her think of Cole. She couldn't help but wonder where he was, if he was even alive. She still couldn't understand it or believe it. He'd come all the way to Haven to warn her about the Elder One. He'd helped people, her people. Instead of retreating with the others, he'd risked his life to protect hers.

" _I promised that no one was ever going to hurt you."_

Cole's words lingered in her mind – uttered to her on such soft, gentle tones that continued to drift through her mind like leaves on a summer's breeze.

Ember shook the words from her head as she moved into her room to sit in the center of her bed. She sat cross-legged in her obsidian armor, heavy mass of wildly unruly crimson curls flowing down her back as she sharpened her daggers with a whetstone using the care given a prized possession, which they were. The blades were a beloved gift from Leliana. They were light weight but razor sharp, finely crafted and honed just for her hands and fighting style. They were her most treasured belongings, besides the necklace hanging around her neck and the book of poems resting on her nightstand.

The last thing she remembered of Haven was being buried alive in snow with Cole's body shielding hers, his warmth keeping her from freezing to death, her hips cradling his, his arms wrapped so tightly around her. She remembered the deep longing in his voice when he'd whispered something in her ear right before she'd passed out from blood loss, as if he ached for something. Ember didn't understand a lot of things, but she understood  _that_  feeling.

She'd awakened later on a bedroll where the Inquisition had made camp just outside of Haven. She had no memory of how she'd gotten from Haven to the Inquisition's camp, and neither did anyone else. They thought she'd died at Haven, all except for Leliana. Leliana knew within her heart that Ember was still alive and would find her way back to them. They had found her with the other injured soldiers, sleeping soundly. She'd been cleaned and her many injuries bandaged and cared for. The leather necklace with the charm of a star hanging from a half crescent moon had been cleaned and secured back around her neck.

Ember had gone looking for Cole once she'd gained consciousness. She'd searched every inch of the camp and then Skyhold when they'd arrived, but found no sign of him. She'd even asked Cullen if he'd seen the young man from Haven that had helped them, but Cullen couldn't recall ever seeing such a young man.

"Inquisitor?" came Cullen's voice, breaking through her thoughts.

Ember's chin turned to face him from her spot on her bed, dagger and whetstone in hand. "Yes?"

The smile he gave her was charming. "Everyone is gathered in the War Room and waiting for your luminous presence."

"Good," she replied pleasantly as she dragged the whetstone almost lovingly over the length of her blade.

Her eyes shifted to look at Cullen discretely out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't spoken to him that much since he kissed her on the roof of the Chantry in Haven, which was more than two months ago. It was strange and awkward between them now. She was pretty sure Cullen was aware that there was something impeding her ability to become anything more than just friends with him. Thank the Maker he wasn't aware of what exactly that something was.

"Do you require more whetstones?" Cullen asked politely.

"Yes. Please," the Inquisitor answered before hopping off her bed and sheathing her daggers at her back. "Let's head to the War Room. King Alistair said he had information concerning the Wardens and Corypheus. I want to know what the hell is going on. I want the Wardens for allies. I want the pleasure of stealing not only the mages, but also the Wardens from that ancient darkspawn." Her face was set with grim resolve when she reached him. "I want to reach Crestwood and meet Alistair before nightfall."

"You are very determined, I think," he answered, arching an eyebrow in a manner that would have caused havoc in the heart of any other woman.

A smile curved her lips. "Quite. My mama always said it was my greatest failing."

His smile could stop any other woman's heart. "Or greatest strength."

Her eyes glittered up at him. "We shall see, won't we?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two nights later, the Inquisitor was sitting alone on the wooden floor of her room at Skyhold, her back leaning against her bed's frame. She was staring blankly at the ground as rain fell heavy and loud on the roof above her head, an almost empty bottle of wine in her hand. A single candle burned on her nightstand beside another bottle of wine that was already empty.

For a long time she wavered between unparalleled anger and gut-wrenching despair. She'd met with King Alistair in Crestwood and he'd told her how the Grey Wardens were under the influence of Corypheus. Blackwall was currently under lock and key as she was unable to bring herself to trust him enough to roam Skyhold free and clear.

The Inquisitor lifted the wine in her hand and took a long pull on the bottle, until there was no more. She'd admired the Grey Wardens since she was a child and so her mind was currently swimming in a sea of denial. How could they do this? How could they form an alliance with that monster? Why was everyone in the damn world losing their damn minds? What the hell was happening to the world? How was she supposed to save it when it didn't even want to be saved?

The Inquisitor stood and stumbled drunkenly over to her bed. She removed her black armor and boots, stripping down to her smalls, too tired and drunk to put on tights and a tunic for bed. She removed the dagger she always kept strapped to her calf and placed it under her pillow. She never slept without it. She'd been trained by life and Leliana to always keep her guard up and that's what she'd always done. She'd learned early on as a child that, if given the chance, people will strike first. She never gave them the opportunity to try and get the best of her. Never again.

The Inquisitor blew out the candle on her nightstand and pulled back the covers and drunkenly climbed into the bed. The cool feel of the crisp linen sheets on her skin were a welcomed gift after the day and night's events of fighting, bloodshed, disappointment, and death. Adjusting her pillow, she pulled the blankets up to her chest and closed her eyes. Maker, she was exhausted and the darkness and the soothing sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain above her were exactly what she'd been craving these last few hours.

Sleep would be bliss to obtain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!" the young mage girl cried frantically as she shrank against the stone wall of the dungeons, trying desperately to get away from the demon that was stalking her with the wicked-looking dagger in his hand._

_The demon crouched down in front of the young elven girl and spoke to her in a voice too low to hear, but the dagger in his hand glinted in the low light with deadly intent._

_"Look into my eyes…" she heard the demon say to the young girl._

_The demon raised the dagger in his hand and placed the serrated edge against the girl's neck. Mercilessly, the demon dragged the blade across her neck, blood gushing down the front of the girl's chest and into her robes. The girl convulsed, a spurt of bright blood erupting from her mouth._

_The demon watched._

_The demon watched intently as the life left the girl's eyes, as if it were sustenance for his soul._

The Inquisitor woke with a jolt to her empty, pitch-black room. She couldn't tell what had roused her from her sleep. For a long time, she laid still listening to the rain falling on the roof and windowpane, and the beating of her own heart.

Trying to find a comfortable position, she rolled over onto her side, taking a deep breath, but then tensed as she heard the sound of breathing. Breathing?

Someone was in her room.

The Inquisitor knitted her brow, her pulse going wild with alarm, her natural instincts of self-preservation kicking in. Her body immediately went on the offensive. Her hand moved stealthily to the dagger under her pillow. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, calming her jolted nerves. Gliding the cool steel out from its hiding place, she gained a better grip.

Swiftly she sat up, dragging the dagger out from under her pillow and holding it sideways in front of her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes narrowed, intently searching the darkness of her room as the rain beat against the roof. There was a flicker in the dark by her window, a shifting of shadows, and she felt something within them staring at her.

"I know you're there," Ember stated in a low and stiff voice, speaking into the shadows that lined her bedchamber. "Come out of the shadows," she commanded firmly, the authority ringing in her voice.

The words were strangely familiar.

For a long moment there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.

A flash of lightning lit the night sky from outside her window, illuminating her bedchamber for a split second in silvery-white light.

Ember's soft, ragged intake of breath rang sharp and loud in the still of the silence of her bedchamber, her heart pounding in her throat, as the light of the lightening flashed upon a head of thick, shaggy blonde hair that was wet with rain, turning it silver with its light.

A young man was crouched low on his haunches, his elbows resting on his knees as he balanced on the balls of his feet on the wooden frame that lined her bed by her feet, not five feet away from her. He wore wet leathers that hugged his long, whipcord lean, tightly corded figure made up entirely of carved lines and sharp angles.

Another flash of lightning lit her bedchamber causing dark shadows to slash across his sharply chiseled features, highlighting his smooth alabaster skin. Her heart chilled in her chest as she found herself staring into the eyes of the ghost who'd haunted her dreams for the past five years.

She sat frozen in her bed, afraid to move, afraid to breathe with the knife still held sideways in front of her chest. For what seemed a small eternity, she remained poised motionlessly in her bed, in just her smalls she realized to her horror. On an exhaled breath she gradually sank back against the headboard. Her lips parted and one softly spoken word fell out on a shuttering breath, "Cole?"

He said nothing. He remained perched at the end of her bed, crouched down on her wooden bedframe like a gargoyle, the rain dripping off of him and soaking into her sheets.

She began stammering, "Why are you… how did you… how long have you been here?"

The silence that lingered was deafening. Haunted, haunted eyes continued to stare at her beneath a wet mop of unkempt golden locks. The wayward strands of blonde hair leaked water down his face and lay in wet strands across his forehead.

"A while."

Ember sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. That voice… so low and raspy, yet smooth and soft… it seemed to roll right through to her bones. She involuntarily shivered, hoping he didn't see it.

"Have you been in my room the whole time I've been away?"

He looked at her from beneath long, sooty black lashes. "Yes."

"And you don't find that… strange?"

His gaze was piercing. "No."

"Oh," she managed, her voice slightly breathless.

After several heartbeats, she was finally able to get her limbs to obey her commands. She turned and placed her dagger down on her nightstand with a trembling hand. With a flick of her wrist she sent magic sprouting from her fingertips to light the wick of the candle on her nightstand, a flame bursting to life and casting the room in a soft golden glow.

When she turned back to him a tiny smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You're safe," he said, raindrops sliding down the pale skin of his throat. "Safe and sound. I was worried. Your lips were so blue before. So much blood. I didn't like it."

She swallowed, trying to calm her nerves as she lifted the sheets to cover her near nakedness, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. "Are you talking about Haven?"

"Yes." He stared at her in silence for a long moment with a look of agony on his face. "Haven. I remember it and it still scares me: Choking fear, can't think with your blood on my hands and on my chest. Your breath is slower. Your lips are blue. So blue. They are not supposed to be blue and cracked and dry. Their supposed to be soft and red, like the petals of a rose." Cole shook his head, blonde hair swaying softly across his eyes. "Protect her. Nothing else matters. But I wasn't fast enough. Too slow. Too  _slow_. I couldn't stop them from hurting you. The guilt wracks me with every heartbeat. You're in pain, so I'm in pain. You're dying, so I'm dying. Hot white pain, everything burning. She can't die. Save her. Save  _her_. Nothing else matters. Nothing else-"

"Why are you here, Cole?" she interrupted on an unstable breath, her heart unable to hear anymore.

With wet hair and raindrops rolling down his ghostly white face. "A piece is missing. Essential. The rest of the puzzle hurts without it."

A cold chill rushed through her veins. Maker, that  _look_. There was something so disturbing about the way he was looking at her. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, and somehow flattering all at once. "What are you talking about?"

His expression was wistful as his eyes scanned her hair, her face, her throat. "I've missed you."

She froze. She froze, staring into his eyes, his honest words ringing in her ears and her heart tripping in her chest. She froze while a tremor shimmied up her body.

"It's been five years, Cole," she gritted out. " _Five years_."

He ducked his head, letting his wet hair fall over and hide his eyes, causing droplets of rain to roll down his sharply carved face. "Five years, four months, and seventeen days," he corrected in a tiny voice laden with quiet suffering.

Two pink spots flared in her cheeks and she looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap on top of the coverlet. And there her gaze stayed, while the silence in the room grew from being merely uncomfortable to downright suffocating.

"You're different," she heard him murmur into the silence and she looked up at him. "I didn't get a chance to really look before. But you're different. I see it now." His eyes were alight with some emotion she couldn't define as they scanned every inch of her face. "The Fade is heavy on you. Shining, shimmering, sharp. It's strong and pure. Loud and bright. Similar to before, but… different."

"And you're exactly the same." Scowling, she crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. "Still slaughtering innocents?" She said the words before she had a chance to think them through and she winced when she heard them in her ears. They were cruel. They made her heart hurt just hearing them spoken in her voice, but they were also true words. That hurt even more. She couldn't forget that.

She saw the way his blue eyes softened in remorse as he looked at her for an interminable moment before saying, "The last time you saw me you didn't want to look at me. You saw a monster." His voice was tight with emotion, stormy eyes unimaginably sad as they peered into hers. "And you were right," he managed to say in a self-deprecating way. "They were dying or to be made Tranquil. They were in pain. They were begging for someone to make it stop hurting. Every moment would've been agony. They wanted mercy. I wanted to help, but I also didn't want to fade away. Dark and desperate, using blood and death to make myself alive. I used to be like that. I'm not anymore."

Cole's voice shook with emotion and his words rang with sincerity, and she couldn't help the lump that formed in her throat. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he'd changed, that he wasn't killing innocents anymore. But how could she trust someone that had the ability to influence her mind? He could be bending her thoughts into thinking him harmless so that she would let her guard down and open her mind just that little bit that would allow him to possess her and turn her into an abomination.

Refusing to be manipulated or deceived, she quickly steeled herself against the soft emotions stirring within her. Her lips pursed and her expression hardened. "I don't want to speak of the past. I want to speak of the present. You still haven't explained why you're here, Cole."

"I want to explain but… I don't always say it right." He looked away from her, staring at the rain rolling down her window, a miserable look on his face. "I've been living in the shadows. Unseen, unrecognized, unwanted. I always see the starlight, but it is remote and far away, and never finds me. I reach for it, but it slips through my fingers, not wanting to be found. In the shadows you are always alone, the world oblivious to your existence." He looked at her from under long black lashes. "I don't want to live in the shadows anymore. I want to live among the stars."

Her resolve to remain unaffected and to not let him get to her began to crumble as she fell victim to eyes the color of a cloudy sky that were so large, so round, and utterly sad in a face that was so forlorn she felt the wretched feeling echoing deep within herself.

The Inquisitor quickly caught herself and smothered the tender emotions that were currently coursing through her. She glared at him, accusingly. She hated that look that resembled a lost, lonely puppy. She hated how it still had an effect on her. She loathed how he could still get under her skin after all these years and after everything she'd done to rid herself of the girlish feelings she'd harbored for him when she was eighteen and young and stupid and naive.

Damn, damn,  _damn_.

She didn't need this. He shouldn't be here. She couldn't handle his being here. Anger formed in her gut and she found it comforting. How dare he be here, strolling right back into her life, ruining the fragile balance she'd found in her life with his raspy voice and haunted blue eyes. She hated his eyes, hated the dark shadows that seemed to fill them, hated that she cared, hated that she wanted to be the one to bring light into them.

Her jaw was clenched and she forced the words passed the thin line of her lips, "Thank you for coming to warn me and help me at Haven. I didn't get a chance to thank you for that."

"I will always keep my promise," he whispered to her.

Her features were pinched, causing the freckles speckled across her nose to standout. "The Inquisition thanks you for your service," she uttered through gritted teeth. "I can arrange to have an award granted to you, if you would like."

"I don't want an award."

"Then what do you want, Cole?" The hard knot of distress that was lodged in her throat made the name sound hoarse. She suddenly felt like she was negotiating with the devil on the terms of her soul.

His eyes flickered upward and locked onto hers from beneath disheveled blonde tresses that dripped rain into his eyes. "I want to be where you are."

He didn't elaborate. She kept her gaze fixed on his and remained silent, waiting for some sort of explanation. When she didn't get one, she replied firmly, "That's impossible and you know it."

"Why?"

Her eyes flashed as her heart wrenched. "Because I'm a mage and you're a  _demon_!"

Cole shifted uneasily from where he was crouched at the end of her bed on her wooden bed frame, a rueful look on his face. "I want it to be spirit."

Her eyes widened as she recoiled from him, pressing against her headboard. He wasn't even denying it. Maker help her, she suddenly saw her near-future murder playing out in front of her eyes at the hands of the ghost that was still haunting her.

"I am me," he explained quickly when he saw the mixture of terror and apprehension on her face. "The one who won't let anyone hurt you."

When her terrified expression remained, Cole's body flickered and he impossibly appeared standing beside her bed, lean muscles taut and that unearthly aura radiating around him making him appear dangerous and otherworldly.

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach at the same time her blood cooled in her veins. That impossible movement only reminded her how he wasn't human.

_Run!_

A warning voice screamed in her mind, her panic mounting, self-preservation instincts taking hold. But her limbs wouldn't obey. She remained frozen, motionless in fear, unable to do anything but stare. Her heart was hammering wildly in her throat as the Ghost of the Spire moved closer to her, gliding across the wooden planks next to her bed like smoke on the wind.

"You're frightened. You don't have to be." The wretched and desperate look in his eyes when he said that prompted a surprisingly sympathetic reaction from her despite the dread that still gripped her. "See me, dear heart," he murmured with his voice so low and hushed, aching and pleading. "See me when you look at me. Just like you used to."

Something tender twisted painfully within her. Those haunted eyes saw so much and asked only to be seen in return. She didn't answer him. Even if she'd been able to think of a reply, she could never have pushed the words past the constriction in her throat. Nor could she look away as she watched him stop beside her and bend over to place one hand on the headboard beside her head and the other on the bed beside her hip, trapping her in the space between the cold wooden headboard and his very warm body.

The heat emanating from him reached out to her, beckoning. She could not feel his evil, but she could feel his power vibrating from his lean, sinewy frame as it hovered over hers, rain dripping off of him. She held her breath for as long as she could, refusing to breath, until the need for oxygen forced her to inhale slowly, taking the scent of him into her lungs. She smelled the scent of the leather of his armor, the wool of the tunic beneath, the rain that slid wet and slippery along his skin that was as pale as the moon itself, and something sweet yet spicy that was all his own.

Her eyes looked up at him to find him staring down at her, less than six inches from her face. She gulped and squeezed her thighs together beneath the sheets that separated that piercing blue gaze from her bare skin.

The light from the candle flickered this way and that, casting dancing shadows upon his milky-white face as he dropped his gaze to rake her body, slowly, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Your body is shaking. You ripple like water when the stone is dropped." His head tilted, eyes questioning. "Why?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips, her breathing quickening as she watched him watching her with all of that focused and unwavering intensity. "It doesn't matter," she managed breathlessly, trying desperately to force the trembling to stop, not to give her away. She didn't understand why anytime he moved within a foot of her personal space, it sucked the breath out of her. She especially didn't understand why she liked it.

A disjointed, fragmented feeling of unreality kept her rigid, paralyzed, her pulse pounding in her ears as he slowly brought one of his hands to her face, the very tips of two wet fingers sweeping feathery light across the elegant hollow beneath her cheekbone.

Instantly her body tensed into immobility. Her heart seemed to skip a beat and then pounded at double time, sending the blood roaring in her ears. She could have pulled from his touch, but she didn't. Her breath had deserted her like a traitor and she found she had no will to break the connection.

Cole's eyes followed his hand as it slowly moved down her jaw, then her neck, stopping at her collarbone. He dragged his eyes back to hers and their shade was darker then before. With those eyes delving into hers and his fingers on her skin, she felt like the intervening years fade away until she was eighteen again, young and helpless and in a dark cell with nothing and no one but her ghost, her protector, her one and only friend.

He studied every nuance of her expression. Those eyes seemed to reach in and probe the depths of her eyes before falling to linger on her rapidly increasing pulse at her neck, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Your heart beats faster when I touch you. Your eyes become darker, you skin warms, and you shine brighter. Why?"

She could barely process his words. She was torn between the need to move away from his overwhelming presence and the desire to lean forward and curl into him and the protection he could certainly offer her.

Protection? She blinked at the idea. How insane was it to want protection from the only thing she'd ever needed protection from?

Unyielding, Cole's gaze captured hers in a long glance as his fingertips ran lightly over the necklace he'd made for her that was hanging around her neck before letting his hand return to the bed beside her hip. "Do you remember it?" he uttered, his voice hoarse from the raw tightness in his throat.

Her chest rose and fell swiftly. "R-Remember what?"

A heated look flitted across his face, so fleeting that Ember was sure she imagined it. "Warm lips. Soft as a summer rain. Starlight-flavored. Light at first, like raindrops splashing down, falling on my skin. Soft sighs inhaled. Gasping, trembling, air seeking, and then lips again. Head underwater, drowning. Feeling like I'm going to die, yet can't get enough."

"Cole…" What should have sounded like an admonishment came out like an entreaty.

A raindrop dangled at the end of a lock of blonde hair that was hovering above her before it landed with a soft plop on her bottom lip. His eyes moved downward to her mouth and rested there for an uncomfortably long time. "Can I have it again?" His voice was rougher, darker than it had been.

She blinked a few times at his words. "Can you have what again?"

"Your mouth." A tremor shook her at the vibration of his low, husky murmur. His gaze remained fixed on her mouth as he leaned in excruciatingly slowly until his lips just barely reached hers. "I want it again."

The Inquisitor stiffened on a sharp intake of breath as Cole's lips hovered over hers, his warm breath teasing her lips like fingertips. The pulse in her wrists hammered violently as she battled back a flood of emotions. She gasped in air that he exhaled until she felt dizzy.

Sweet Andraste, he wasn't even touching her and yet he'd reduced her to a quivering heap of raw nerves. How was it that he and he alone could affect her so strongly? She hated it. She despised the power he wielded over her. She had to fight this magnetism, this irrepressible allure that hadn't ebbed in the past five years that would inevitably lead to her –  _their_  - destruction.

With his breath mingling with her own, she forced herself to remember what he did. Remember what he was. She needed to remember that now. Every fiber of her being knew he was dangerous. He was like a Venus flytrap - attractive but treacherous. Cole was as safe as broken glass. Yet her body didn't seem to care about all that. Stupid lust. But she could not forget, and certainly could never forgive, that he had murdered an innocent young mage girl who'd begged him for her life.

The Inquisitor forced her stomach to stop quivering in anticipation and schooled her features into a stoic mask. "Anything about us is in the past. Let's leave it there," she uttered, speaking in a tightly controlled voice that belied her chaotic emotions.

Only a hairsbreadth away, she watched Cole squeeze his eyes shut, felt his heated breath stutter unevenly against her lips, and saw his jaw clench – in pain? Or restraint?

After a few heartbeats, he reluctantly pulled back slightly, his eyes burning and uncomprehending as he looked down at her.

Her chin jutted out belligerently. "Cole, I'm asking you as nicely as I'm going to ask you. Please leave."

Hurt and confusion flashed across his face before falling and settling into panic. "Wait. That didn't work. Let me try again."

Glowering, she leveled unsympathetic eyes on him. "You don't get to try again. Now please leave."

His eyebrows were pulled together and the pain on his face was raw and real and heartbreaking. "But… but the words came out wrong. I didn't say it right." There was a hard desperation in his eyes that sent chills down her spine. "Let me try again. The right way. You'll forget me in a minute."

"I will  _never_  forget you. That's the problem!" she cried, some of her own pain inadvertently leaking into her voice. "You are haunting me!" Her words rang out loudly and sharply, resounding with echoes.

Cole hesitated as if he was going to say something more, then changed his mind. Silence engulfed them. The air between them vibrated raw with tension, the past echoing all around them.

Slowly, his face fell, becoming closed off, as if someone had dropped a curtain over his face. His emotions became shuttered and his features brooding as he took a step back from her and lowered his arms to his sides, allowing her room to breathe again.

One booted foot that was covered in mud and wet from the rain moved back on the wooden floorboard beside her bed and it creaked under his weight. Cole took another step back, his eyes never leaving hers as he took another step that brought him further away from her. Another step and he was swallowed up by the shadows of her room and there was a shifting within them as the ghost of her past slipped silently out of her window into the rain pouring from the heavens outside.

The Inquisitor's breath left her in a rush as she fell back against her headboard. Shakily, she raised a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart as a dozen conflicting emotions warred within her, just as they always did when Cole was involved.

Her eyes flickered to stare at the window he'd just left out of, watching the rain roll slowly down the windowpane. She felt suddenly… lonely without him there. She shouldn't. A mage shouldn't miss a demon.

With a heavy sigh, she shuffled down into her covers. She laid her pounding head on her pillow and blew a stray red curl from her face, wondering why he made her feel like she was wrong when every instinct she had told her she was right. Her instincts were never wrong. When her eyes lifted to the ceiling of her room she gasped in shock.

Hundreds of tiny golden-white stars dotted the deep black background of her ceiling.

Her heart constricted. Tears burned her eyes and her throat ached. She knew instantly who'd taken the time to paint all of those tiny little stars on her ceiling.

There was only one person in the entire world that knew she loved to sleep under the stars.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Little Talks (Live from Vatnagaroar)_ by Of Monsters and Men. Also, someone asked me about Cole calling Ember "dear heart." In Chapter 6, you see that is what the real Cole's mother used to call him. It is very meaningful to Cole since that term of endearment is associated with the few memories the real Cole had of ever receiving compassion in his life.


	10. Tables Meant For Wars

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just_

_\- Benedictions 4:10_

The next day, the Inquisitor made her way slowly to the War Room where her advisors and companions were waiting for her. She was not dressed in her typical ebony armor but rather in black tights, a jade sleeveless tunic, and black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. The form-fitting attire accentuated her tall, slender figure, emphasizing her lean muscles and slight feminine curves. Around her neck was the black leather necklace she was never seen without with the hand-carved wooden charm of a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon.

Her hair was a wildly unruly pile of curls that tumbled down to the small of her back, making her identity unmistakable. The shocking fiery red color gave her a wild and fierce look, like that of a lioness as she moved with sleek litheness through the halls of Skyhold. A thick, tightly-coiled crimson curl hung into large, expressive blue-green eyes that were lined with a thatch of charcoal lashes as her fingers dragged tenderly along the stone walls as she passed, as if she cherished each piece of stone that made up her new home.

The Inquisitor was not a pretty girl, at least not in the conventional sense. She did not look soft and feminine, dainty or fragile. She did not look to be made of delicate flower petals like other women her age, but rather of solid steel sharpened and forged from the fires of life, chipped by the worst it had to offer. She was strong and tough, radiating resilience and conviction, yet her turquoise eyes were skittish and untrusting, like an animal waiting for a hunter to ambush her.

Looking into those blue-green eyes, you'd see the hardness that only going to hell and pulling yourself back gave a person. She was a woman who'd been fighting for longer than any person should, one who'd seen too much, lost too much, been through too much. Though the exterior was tough as dragon scales, the inside was scarred. Scarred and wounded, but not broken. Never broken.

It made her different. It set her apart. The refugees, soldiers, guests, and servants of Skyhold gossiped about her often, discussing how differently she acted from the others, how she always avoided other people as though afraid of them, how she had power no one person should have, how she checked every shadow she encountered as if searching for something, or someone.

Strange, they said in hushed tones behind their hands. Reclusive. Hard. Untrusting.

What had happened to her to make her that way? They wondered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Inquisitor slowly dragged her fingers lovingly across the wall of the throne room, oblivious to the dozens of people going about their daily lives around her, each giving her odd looks as they passed.

She winced when the material of her tunic stuck to the mostly dried blood on her back and pulled, causing the wound there to reopen. On the trip back to Skyhold from Crestwood, the claws of a wyvern had scratched her when they'd accidently walked into their nest. There was a large gash on the small of her back that burned and itched something fierce. The health potions she'd taken hadn't done much to heal it. She wished she knew healing magic so she could take care of it herself. She didn't want to bother the healers with it when they had more important things to do.

The Inquisitor opened the door to Josephine's office and walked in, glancing around nervously, just waiting for the Ghost of the Spire to pop out of the shadows.

But he didn't.

She couldn't help but wonder if Cole had left Skyhold. Was he really gone this time? Would she ever see him again? Part of her was glad he was gone, knowing it was the best thing for everyone if she never saw him again. The other part kept searching the shadows with an undeniable flicker of hope.

Dark circles were under her eyes from lack of sleep the night before due to Cole's unexpected late night visit. Her body was still humming with the memory of his touch. But each time she saw him it seemed to be a different Cole that greeted her. There were so many sides to him.

There was the lost soul - the young man who was so desolately lonely, so utterly alone in a world that could not see him and could not remember him.

There was the Ghost of the Spire - the merciless killer who knowingly murdered innocent mages in cold blood just to feel alive.

There was her protector - the one who risked everything to ensure no harm came to her.

There was the rogue - the lean, strong predator who could wield a dagger with such proficient skill the blade seemed more apart of his body than anything else.

There was the man - the one who'd kissed her senseless in the dungeons, leaving her with an ache she still felt five years later.

And then there was the demon - the darkness that lurked in the shadows of his eyes that promised nothing but danger, possession, blood, and death.

Cole was unlike anything or anyone else. So strange, otherworldly, and dangerous yet compassionate, gentle, protecting. A demon, a man, a killer, a friend, a threat, a protector. A thousand little contradictions wrapped in riddles coated in rugged, intense, broody, sensual….

 _Nope. Don't go there_ , she chastised herself.  _Demon_ , she reminded herself.  _You are a mage. You can't think of a demon like that. And Cole is a demon_.

But it didn't make any sense. When she'd first met Cole she'd been so sure he wasn't a demon. She was a spirit medium. Ever since she was a child she could sense demons and spirits. She could feel them watching mortals or trying to cross the Veil. She had not sensed Cole as such. She had been so sure Cole was human. But demons were masters of deception. A clever demon could've found a way to hide his true nature from her. But that would require deception on Cole's part and the thought of Cole intentionally deceiving anyone rubbed her the wrong way. She just didn't think Cole had the ability to act so maliciously.

 _You saw him murder an innocent girl in cold blood_ , a little voice reminded her and she cringed. The memory of it was never far from her conscious thought. It lurked on the outskirts of her mind, pouncing out periodically with taunting reminders of his culpability and his betrayal of the trust she'd given him when trust was the hardest thing she could ever give another person. Every person in her life had betrayed her, each form of treachery leaving its mark on her flesh and on her heart. Cole's had been the worst.

Last night Cole had said he'd wanted to stay at Skyhold. A part of her wanted him to, wanted her friend back, but she was afraid he would start killing innocents again, the people the Inquisition had promised to protect. He'd said he'd killed the mages in the dungeons of the Spire to help them, that they wanted to die, but he'd also said he'd needed to kill them to stay real. Would he kill her too? She didn't think so, not after Haven. But maybe it was all an act meant to lower her guard. Maybe he was manipulating her, deceiving her into thinking him harmless. Nastiness that looked like niceness was why she had trust issues. There was nothing a demon wouldn't do to possess the mage that caught its interest. Maybe that's what was happening to them.

Something Malcolm Hawke often said came back to her:  _Mage's who are being manipulated rarely know it until it's too late._ Malcolm Hawke had taught her the tricks demons played to gain the trust of any mage foolish enough to listen.  _Never let it get close._   _You can never let a demon get close. Never trust them, Ember. Never._

When the Inquisitor reached the War Room without incident she tried her best to ignore the little dip of disappointment in the pit of her belly when Cole had failed to appear. She pushed the feeling down and pushed through the door.

"Hello kiddos," the Inquisitor said pleasantly in greeting as she strolled into the War Room right up to the War Table.

Her three advisors and companions, less Blackwall and Solas, all turned to face her with greetings and smiles. She didn't know where Solas was and she still didn't trust Blackwall. She didn't feel comfortable with letting the Warden out of the stables until this whole thing with the Wardens was dealt with.

"So, who's skull are we bashing in today, boss?" Bull asked merrily, crossing his massive grey arms over his equally massive grey chest that was bare and severely cut with muscle and peppered with scars. "Please tell me it's a dragon.  _Please_  tell me it's a dragon."

"Not today, Bull," she replied and he pouted. "I want to continue breaking apart and tearing down Corypheus' allies while we search for his weakness. Corypheus has invested great time and effort building a trusted inner circle. He's recruited the red templars, but we have no idea who their leaders are. The red templars made up the majority of the force that attacked Haven."

Each and every one of them fell deathly silent and had a clenched jaw, narrowed eyes, and a flaring of temper at that last remark.

The Inquisitor nodded in understanding. "I know you all want to hit the red templars back for Haven. None more than I." She sighed in irritation and folded her arms. "Unfortunately, our intel on the red templars adds up to effectively nothing." Aquamarine eyes tightened with annoyance. "That is unacceptable to me. I want to know more about the red lyrium. I want to know why they take it and what it does to them. I want to take the red templars down. I want justice for our people that were killed at Haven. I want to… to…" Her voice trailed off as she watched in shock as Cole appeared suddenly, completely out of thin air, on the other side of the War Table in between Varric and Bull.

She shook her head to clear it. Surely she had been mistaken…

But she wasn't. Her heart came to a stuttering stop with dismay as she stared at him staring at her, the morning light spilling in through the floor-length windows behind him turning his hair to glittering handspun gold.

This time there was no mistaking his presence, and her stomach fluttered nervously. An emotion that felt uncomfortably close to panic laced with elation washed through her and she was dismayed by the effect his sudden presence was having on her pulse rate.

The Inquisitor didn't acknowledge Cole's presence, which was a good thing because it appeared no one else could see him but her. She stood stock-still, staring into deep blue eyes, while Leliana began speaking to the group, giving the Inquisitor an odd look at her sudden silence.

The Inquisitor tried to focus on the room, to calm her reaction into a manageable proportion. With supreme effort she focused on something other than him, and forced herself to stare at the earring in Varric's ear.

But it didn't work.

After a while of pretending she hadn't noticed him, Cole started toward her. Her thoughts straightened and her attention became riveted by the graceful and fluid way he moved around the War Table, never breaking eye contact with her, his pace slow, measured. Her pulse pounded, adrenaline surging in her blood, her anticipation mounting as he drew closer to her. She felt unease of not knowing what he was doing or thinking or-

"Inquisitor?"

"Yes, Josie?" Ember wiped suddenly moist and clammy hands on her black tights and tried to catch her breath as she met the ambassador's gaze.

"I said, are you well?" Josephine repeated.

"I'm… er… I'm fine," she answered absently as she tried to ignore the man,  _ghost, oh Maker_ , that continued to draw closer to her, completely unseen to everyone but her. "You were saying about… ah… about the red lyrium shipments?"

Josephine nodded before she continued, updating the others on the red lyrium shipments she'd discovered. The Inquisitor listened to Josephine, refusing to turn her head to look again.

Moments later, the Inquisitor's back snapped taut as she felt Cole come to stand directly behind her, close enough for their clothing to brush. She could feel him and there was no pretending not to notice him now. His breath stirred her hair, raising the hairs at her neck and sending shivers down her spine. With the War Table pressing against her stomach and Cole at her back, she felt trapped. He was imposing and invading, eating up her personal space that she desired so much in order to breathe properly. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Was he messing with her, trying to intimidate? If he was, it was working, but it also made her angry.

Ember turned her head over her shoulder to glare at him, and realized he was a lot closer than she'd thought. Close enough to catch his scent and feel the warmth of his body heat, though no part of him was touching her. Her eyes flickered up to meet his and the dark shadows in his eyes spilled into hers. She could feel a faint stirring deep inside her, a fluttering little pulse that seemed to intensify with each throbbing second those eyes refused to release hers.

Just when she began to think he was so close for no other reason than to freak her out, his eyes shifted down to her back. Long, callused fingers slipped under the hem of her tunic and lifted her shirt up slightly causing a soft quake to work its way up her spine and down her arms. Because she was partially turned toward him, she could see him eying the gash on the small of her back with a troubled expression.

A tingle rippled over her as his pale hand ghosted over the bare flesh of her back just over the cut, making every hair stand at attention. Flames raced through her body and a profound shiver followed in its wake. She inhaled a shaky breath, then took another as she fought the instincts that screamed for skin-to-skin contact.

"Inquisitor? Did you hear me?" she barely heard Cullen say through the loud pounding of her heart in her ears.

Her head snapped around to find her advisors and her companions staring at her as if she'd grown two-heads. "So… umm… what is your recommended course of action, Commander?" She hoped that didn't sound too insane.

"I say we hit the red lyrium shipments hard," Cullen answered firmly, surprising her that she'd guessed right. "Attack enough shipments and the red templar leaders will be sure to surface and expose themselves. Once we know who they are, we tear them apart."

The Inquisitor nodded. "Alright. Let's send some of Leliana's scouts to… ahh…" Her voice caught on a sound that was a cross between a cry and a gasp as long cool fingers brushed the small of her bare back, smearing something jelly-like and cool over the gash. Her mouth remained open though no words came out, her throat working as fire licked beneath her skin.

"What's wrong, sweeting?" Leliana asked with concern.

"The Inquisitor is clearly thinking of me naked and is therefore unable to form a coherent thought," Bull stated confidently with a smirk. "The tavern wench made the exact same sound when I walked into the kitchens without a scrap of clothing on."

"Frigging what?!" Sera shouted, outraged. "I eat that food, you arse! I don't want your big veiny, grey cock flopping around and dipping into my banana pudding, yeah. Frickin' gross!"

Bull's eyebrows furrowed. "How do you know it's veiny?"

The Inquisitor wasn't listening. She'd turned around until she was face to face with Cole and their chatter had already become background noise behind her. From this position she was eye level with his throat. Their torsos were inches apart, his knee touching the side of her leg a little. Just as their proximity and the intensity of holding eye contact was becoming truly devastating for her, Cole went even further and leaned in toward her. The distance between them narrowed to nothing as he reached around her and pressed an adhesive bandage to the small of her back, covering the gash there. The fabric of his leathers brushed her chest, though his actual torso never touched hers. His face hovered just above hers, and thankfully the angle gave her a chance to break that soul-reaching eye contact. Her heart was pounding in her throat as his hand brushed against her bare hip briefly as he lowered his arm to his side again and slowly backed up.

She couldn't deny the bursts of pure heat that were shooting through her, nor how his touch caused every nerve ending in her body to come alive. Despite knowing what he was, she was still devastatingly drawn to him. It must be a biological defect that she craved something inhuman and so dangerous that it was destined to destroy her. A signal of danger wormed its way through her and activated a sudden need for flight.

The Inquisitor glanced away from Cole and slid out from between his body and the War Table. "I have to… ugh… excuse me," she muttered to the others as she fled toward the door, the edges of her body thrumming with unease and agitation.

The moment she walked out of the War Room and was in the long hallway walking toward Josie's desk, she heard soft footfalls come close behind her. Fuming, she turned around and was slightly alarmed to find Cole standing so close.

"You're angry," Cole murmured.

Her brows furrowed, and she had to crane her neck back just to look up at him, his lean frame towering over hers. "Yes. I'm angry."

A semi-nervous, endearing gleam entered his eye. "I didn't know if you wanted them to see me."

"What was that in there?" Her words were as tight as her spine. "What were you doing?"

He blinked. "You're injured. I wanted to help."

"Cole…" She paused to swallow the lump in her throat. "Why are you here? I thought we talked about this last night."

"Because you… I-I… you…" Cole chewed his lip, and the familiarity of it pulled on something tender inside of her. "You  _do_  something to me. I can't… I don't understand." He looked away from her for a second in frustration before his gaze returned to her. "I return to you. I can do nothing else."

For a long while, she felt paralyzed in mind and body as she stared at him. "You can't stay here, Cole," she whispered, her voice small and strained. "We've already discussed this."

Blonde eyebrows snapped together. "But… but I… they need me," he uttered urgently. "No one else is listening!"

Her eyes shifted away from his, unable to see the distress there. "I'm sorry, Cole," she whispered and she truly was. "But I'm responsible for these people. I swore I would protect them. Given what you are… what I've seen you do… I just can't risk-"

"It started out helping, taking the fear away. I took too much. I see that now," he murmured in a hushed tone. "I was wrong before. A monster. Nothing but darkness. I'm not that. Not anymore. I'm different. I heal the helpless. Give hope where there is hurt."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Why should I believe you could help now?"

"Because of you." His voice was thick. "You've changed me,  _dear heart_."

Her stomach fluttered at the sound of that endearment uttered so softly. She'd never heard it before him and she didn't know why he called her it. She had a feeling it meant something to him, like he was trying to tell her something, but she didn't know what.

He cleared his throat. "Being me made you gone. It hurts too much. I can't be me, have to be someone who never killed. Help enough, and I'm different. I'm not me. Believe it to become it."

The Inquisitor looked down at her boots, breathing deep, her insides twisting. After a moment, she forced herself to meet his eyes but for only a second, unable to bring herself to hold them for longer. "I want to believe you. I do. But the people here at Skyhold have entrusted me with their lives and I must put them before everything else." Her gaze held to the floor. "I'm sorry, Cole. I really am. I want to give you a chance, but…" she released a heavy sigh.

Shaking her head, she made to move passed him and return to the War Room. Her calculated slide past him was truncated by the arm that glided across her hip and around her. The moment he touched her, her heart began to flutter in her chest in a rhythm akin to panic. She froze, the side of his body pressing against the length of hers and her skin heated and tingled at the contact.

With her heart pounding in her ears, Ember turned her head to the side, chin touching her shoulder, and then her eyes slowly dragged up to his. A blonde lock fell over his eyes that were like blue smoke and impaling her with such an intense look that her pulse rate soured. Caught, with only inches between them, the very air seemed to crackle and she had to force herself to breathe or else she'd pass out.

There was a long and painful silence, a shift in the mood that seemed to electrify like a current, before he rasped softly, "You don't see me. You keep yourself higher in the sky, further away from me. If you saw me, you would see that I am no danger now. But you're afraid to  _see_  me. You only see a demon in the shadows, feeding, devouring bone and blood, drenched in death. Blind to all the good to be offered. You look no further than what you want to see. Beware the whispers for they whisper lies!"

She fought to contain the sharpness of her tone as she responded, "You don't know what you're asking of me. With trust comes vulnerability. With vulnerability comes the possibility that you'll be betrayed. You lay yourself wide open and pray you can tell the difference between those who have your back and those who have it long enough just to stab you in it."

"I betrayed you." The words were said with grim dejection.

The statement struck her in the heart like an arrow, opening up a wound that had refused to heal. "You weren't the first."

Cole's expression turned dismal. "Not again. That's not me."

Her lips curved ruefully. "I've thought it wasn't other people, too."

Cole stared at her, looking into her eyes, his own eyes flickering back and forth, studying whatever he saw there. "I see it. The part of you that forgets I'm me cares. Deeply. You want it to go away because you're afraid. I will never hurt you."

"Trust is not 'You will never hurt me'. It is 'I trust myself with whatever you do'." Her chin lifted. "I've seen the things you've done, Cole."

Wretched blue eyes glistened as he struggled for words before releasing a sharp breath and looking away to stare down the long hallway. "I'll… I'll leave you alone. I… I'll go. If that's what you want."

She didn't respond. Instead, she watched his strong throat work before he murmured, "I don't want to go. I  _don't_." Cole stopped looking down the hallway as he spoke, his attention shifting to her and sharpening to a fierce intensity. "I want to stay, even if I'm just watching from the shadows, protecting until death."

"Why?"

"Because…" Those blue pools poured into her. "Because if you don't survive, then I'm all alone again."

Her breath caught in her throat as she suddenly felt his loneliness like a tangible presence, like a shroud blanketing her, smothering her and setting a hollow pain churning inside her stomach.

His long, calloused fingers flexed on her hipbone, the pressure of his fingertips kindling a warm sensation. "You were the first one who could see me, remember me. You were my first friend. My only friend, for a long time. When I hurt people to remain connected, I lost you. When I found out I wasn't human, when I grew, I lost Rhys. I lost my only two friends. The world closed in and got so small I couldn't breathe." There was a wealth of pain in his voice; she could hear it— _feel_  it. "I don't want to go back to that."

Cole was quiet for a while, his expression bleak and brooding. "But I'll go. If that's what you want. I'll find the part inside you that doesn't fit and set it free, making a shape that makes sense without me." The palm of his free hand lifted to settle against the soft curve of her cheek, pale fingers tangling in the deep red scarlet of her curls. "Is that what you want?"

Their eyes met, and she could feel the magnetism that had existed since the day they met, pulsing and pulling. A band seemed to tug their bodies closer. She could feel their shared connection in her chest and see it in the dilation of his eyes. The howl of memories of kisses in dark places was like a heavy wind that refused to be ignored.

Did he lean in the slightest bit? Was the hand against her cheek shifting to hold her in place?

Her heart was thumping madly in her chest. If he did it she'd run. If he did it she'd run. Because she wanted it. He was a demon and she was a mage, it was wrong and unnatural, and she wanted it because he just happened to be looking at her like she was something cherished, something treasured, something… special.

He was definitely leaning in.

She stood there, transfixed and tremblingly, watching his careful, inexorable advance. His emotions wrapped around her – need, confusion, loneliness, desperation – causing her pulse to become erratic.

Cole licked his lips and all of her attention was suddenly riveted on his mouth. She knew she should push him away, should turn her head. But when his callused hand tilted her face towards his and he nudged her cheek with his nose, his lips parting with the slightest sound that bordered on pain, she realized she couldn't.

So close. So dangerous.

She felt the air catch in her throat at his proximity, aware that what she felt between them was too real and powerful to allow this to happen without suffering damaging and irreversible consequences.

"Don't," she heard herself say on a ragged exhale.

"It's hard not to." His voice lowered, rippled, close enough that she could feel the brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth as he spoke. "I've never wanted before."

Silence settled, heavy and thick. He was panting just as fervently as she was.

"Are you afraid of me?" he rasped roughly, his lips brushing her lips so lightly they were hardly there.

"I'm not afraid of you as much as what you're capable of."

"Inquisitor, it seems you've met Cole."

They both jumped apart at Solas' close murmur.

Ember turned to face the older elf, her cheeks roasting, and immediatly began stammering, "Yes. I know him… I mean, I just met him… ugh… yes," she muttered in reply, somehow summoning a voice that was in no way as casual as she wanted it to sound.

The look in Solas' eye told her that he knew everything and the corner of his mouth wouldn't stop ticking, as if he was fighting a smirk that threatened to take hold of his mouth. "I see. I suggest we discuss this further in the War Room with the others."

As soon as Solas disappeared through the doors to the War Room, The Inquisitor inhaled slowly, taking air into her expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly. After a few more breaths, her breathing slowed, returned to normal, to turned to face Cole.

Cole was smiling awkwardly at her and he looked nervous and it was terribly adorable. Maker help her, she was in so much trouble. Trouble didn't even begin to describe it. She'd never be able to explain what it was she felt with him. But whatever it was… it was  _strong_.

"So, you've met Solas?" she asked, needing to say something to fill the silence.

Cole nodded. "Master of the dark that lies. He clings to all that remains of his world, seeking the power to restore it. But there are secrets in his eyes, secrets in his heart and soul, that will remain until the bones are dust and gone," he answered ambiguously. "I like Solas. Last night I told him I wanted to help. He thinks it's a good idea. He likes spirits. He gave me tea and cookies. I like cookies. Tea tastes funny."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Do you need to eat? Sleep?"

"I thought I had to," he answered. "At the White Spire I ate, drank, and slept. But when I learned what I was, I learned I didn't have to, that the old songs could pull me. But that changed."

"When did it change?"

"Haven."

She blinked. "What?"

"I grow tired now. I thirst." Cole gazed into her eyes before he murmured in a voice made husky with deep emotion. "I… hunger."

"How is that possible?"

His voice dropped to a soft murmur, "We can change, if we want it enough."

Her head tilted as she eyed him closely. "You really want to help, don't you?"

"Yes. You – the Inquisition – you help people. You make them safe when they would have died. I want to do that. I want to help."

Those words, coupled with the honesty ringing in his voice, allowed her to give him a pebble of her trust.

"Alright, Cole," she said softly in capitulation. "This world is too bleak to spurn compassion offered so freely. I'll discuss your joining the Inquisition with my advisors and companions. But I warn you, they will be a hard crowd to win over."

Cole held her gaze for a long second, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "They are there. Right in there. Let's go discuss discussing discussions," he replied eagerly.

She smiled at his impatience. "Let me finish my meeting with them and then I'll introduce you to them. Just… stay here. Right here. Okay?"

She could tell he was frustrated and disappointed in her response. "But I want to come with you. I want to join.  _Now_."

"Just wait here, Cole. Right here. Don't move," she answered. "And… and stay out of trouble."

His head tilted. "Socks get wet when the tide rises."

Her eyes went heavenward. "Maker, give me strength."

The Inquisitor walked back into the War Room, feeling Cole's gaze boring into the back of her skull with each step. The moment the door slammed shut behind her, she heard Bull saying, "Do all of your stories begin, 'No shit, there I was,' Varric?"

The Inquisitor lifted her chin and spoke up, "Now, where were we?"

"Red templars. We've got a plan," Cullen answered. "We're going to travel to-"

In the blink of an eye, a body appeared out of thin air on top of the war table. Cole was crouched down on the balls of his feet on the war table with his elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. He wore a large tattered brown hat that stretched from one shoulder to the other, the top around his head made of metal. The wide brim was lowered low over his face, concealing his eyes.

Clearly, he'd been unable to wait.

The entire room exploded into action, curses, and threats. Each of her companions and advisors drew their weapons and aimed them at the young man crouched on the war table, surrounding him.

"An assassin!" Cassandra yelled as she brandished her sword threateningly.

"No. Worse. How did you get in here, creature?!" Cullen barked as he thrust his sword forward toward Cole who didn't flinch or move a muscle, and even though she couldn't see them, she knew his eyes were locked on her face.

Panic licked her spine and caused her to jump to action. "Stop!" The Inquisitor ordered with authority as she moved to stand protectively in front of Cole.

"Get back, Herald. This creature is not what you think," Cullen stated, unaware that he'd said those exact words before at Haven.

"Everyone put your weapons down." The Inquisitor commanded in a strict voice. "Now!"

Slowly, her companions and advisors slowly lowered their weapons, but they did not sheath them.

"Off the war table, creature," Cassandra barked. "Now!"

Cole's lips quirked timidly beneath the brim of his hat. "Yes. I don't belong here. I'm not a war."

Cole hopped off the War Table and moved to stand beside the Inquisitor. He was nervous and on edge, clearly uncomfortable with all the eyes and blades on him. Yet, he'd let them see him, putting his life in danger, just so he could join the Inquisition?

The Inquisitor noticed Leliana's face was pinched and her eyes were narrowed on Cole, wearing the look she always wore whenever she was trying to remember something. "Do I know you?"

Cole's head turned toward the Left Hand, a woman he'd met before at the White Spire. "Old woman with a spirit of mercy within her. A large mountain of stones covered in singing crystals that cursed the feathered fiends that circled its head. Friends who'd helped those who needed it."

Leliana's eyes widened beneath her black cowl. "You were the Ghost of the Spire."

"Yes," Cole replied, unable to hide the guilt in his voice.

"The Ghost of the Spire," Vivienne hissed at Cole with disgust. "Your murders stirred the Circle into a frenzy. That was what brought the attention of the templars."

"I'm not that!" Cole cried.

"Countless deaths are on your head, demon. Are you satisfied with the result of your  _protection_?"

"You're lying. You're… twist the words right, and it will show its true form. Blood or banishment, either will suffice. No. I'm not that," Cole said sharply with a slash of his hand. "Help the hurt, save the small. I want to help."

"How can you help?" Dorian asked, eying Cole with great interest.

"I can be hard to see and I'm good with a dagger. I can kill things that would hurt people," Cole replied eagerly. "I won't be in the way. Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to. People can't see me, can't remember me."

"Wait a minute… so, you can cause people to forget you or even fail entirely to notice you? It's an ability of yours?" Varric asked, curious.

Cole nodded. "Yes." Ember couldn't see his eyes, but she could tell by the way his head angled toward her that he was looking at her. "But you and Rhys are different. The only ones. What you feel sticks, holding, heavy. I can't wash it away. I don't know why."

"Huh," Varric muttered thoughtfully as he scratched his cheek. "Can you do that for other people?"

"Yes. It makes me tired, and doesn't work if they're loud. Or angry. Or bright."

"But it worked on Corypheus at Haven," the Inquisitor pointed out.

Cole shifted awkwardly on his feet. "That was… different."

"How so?"

Cole's chin lifted and his blonde hair parted to reveal one ice blue orb. "It  _had_  to work, or else he'd kill you."

"So, you're a mage?" Dorian asked.

"No. Cole is a spirit who crossed the Veil and took human form," Solas supplied crisply. "Compassion defines his being. It is his purpose."

Bull folded his arms, discontentment written across his face. "Spirit or demon?"

Solas met the Qunari's gaze. "The two are not so dissimilar."

"Wait, aren't demons simply spirits with unique and sparkling personalities?" Varric asked.

"They were envious of those across the Veil," Solas answered. "Their desires alter, change, corrupt them."

"Either way, it's dangerous," Bull growled in disapproval.

"Hold it… the creepy scarecrow is a  _demon_!" Sera cried with unconcealed revulsion.

"His name is Cole. I believe he wants to help," Ember said.

"You cannot trust this  _thing_ , Inquisitor!" Cullen snapped harshly. "You are a fool to believe anything it says!"

Cullen winced as the sharpness in his tone and at the sight of the scowl on the Inquisitor's face that was aimed at him. He wearily rubbed the back of his neck with an unsteady hand, letting out a long and slow breathe.

Cole's lips tipped down at the corners as he looked at Cullen before shifting his gaze to the Inquisitor. "He didn't mean to snap, but it's hard. He wants to take it, to be at his best, but he doesn't want that life. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains."

"What did you just say?" Cullen hissed, rage and disbelief and fear rippling across his handsome features. "Are you reading my mind?"

Cole's head turned back to Cullen, eyes concealed by the brim of his hat. "Reading? No. Listening. Listening to your song. It is sad. You fear me because of an old pain, memories that stick in fragile places like tar. Cornered and tortured, demons asking questions, trying to break into a mind that wouldn't crack easily," he said. "I am not that."

"What… what is this?" Cullen gritted out, boiling with outrage. "How can it… how can it know such things?"

Ember spoke, "Cole can sense the pain of others. He also has… an innate power of persuasion."

"Interesting," Dorian murmured. "That little trick, when you dip into someone's mind and take a drink: do you choose what you're looking for or is it random?"

Cole shifted awkwardly. "It has to be hurt, or a way to help the hurt. They have to need me."

Dorian gestured with his hand. "So, you're using your powers to help people?"

Cole nodded. "I find people when their pain leaves them open. I ease the pain. I leave. They forget."

"Do me, Kid," Varric blurted out, overflowing with excitement. "What are you picking up on me?"

"Quiet, but the old song still echoes inside, almost like templars."

"Cool," Varric murmured, amber eyes glittering with curiosity. "What are you picking up on our fearless leader over there?"

"Listening, always listening, wanting desperately to know what starlight feels and thinks. But I only hear the noise in my own head. Defying and defiant, the rules don't apply to her. They never have."

Varric frowned. "So in other words, you got nothing."

"You are all blind!" Cassandra bellowed. "Don't you see? It is a demon influencing the minds of others. It is dangerous. It plays tricks in your head. Don't let him leave!"

Cole's gaze turned panicked. "I was trying to help!"

Cassandra brandished her sword and pointed it at him. "What type of demon are you – Pride? Rage? Desire?"

"Cole!" he cried frantically. "I'm just Cole!"

Sera had a longbow around her shoulders. Quick as a flash, she unslung the longbow and notched an arrow. "Mother Friggeng Demon Shitebag!" she spat as she drew it and aimed at Cole's heart.

"Stop it! All of you!" Ember screamed in alarm as she thrust herself in front of Cole, protecting him.

Sera frowned. "But Inky-"

"STOP!" The Inquisitor bellowed. "If any of you hurt him, so help me, I'm going to start at your ankles, end at your neck, and break every bone in-between.  _Twice_ ," she threatened, blue-green eyes backed by fire. "Am I understood?!"

Ember looked at Cole over her shoulder and gave him an assuring smile.

Cole's eyes were soft on her face beneath his hat. "Thank you,  _dear heart_." His voice was a rough, low tone that created a tingling in her spine while also forming a knot in her throat. She could not believe he'd just called her that in front of everyone. She could feel Cullen's eyes drilling into her side profile and practically see Varric's wicked grin.

They broke eye contact to find everyone in the room staring at them.

The Inquisitor immediately put distance between them.

"Hold it…" Sera was flicking her gaze back and forth between them, like she was trying to put together a particularly challenging puzzle. "Do you two… know each other?"

Cole looked at Ember at the same time she looked at him. His lip barely curled up in a smile. Even at this distance, she could feel the impact of his penetrating gaze. That look haunted her dreams. The gleam that said there was something between them.

Ember licked her lips and tore her eyes away from the overwhelming power of Cole's gaze, unable to stare into the shadows that dwelled within them for another second. "Cole was the one who saved me at Haven."

"Well, then. It seems you have our gratitude for saving our dear Inquisitor, good sir," Josephine said diplomatically in her softly lilting voice. "I am Lady Montilyet, ambassador of the Inquisition. It is a pleasure to meet you, Cole," the stunningly beautiful Lady Montilyet said in her silky Antivan accent while batting her pretty grey eyes as she curtsied to him, immediately demonstrating her rank in society while also providing him with a wonderful view of her very generous cleavage. Ember had seen the ambassador execute that exact introduction many times before, and with it easily ensnare the hearts of both men and women alike.

"Hello," Cole answered awkwardly, his eyes shifting to the gorgeous brunette for not even a second before returning to Ember.

Josephine visibly started, blinking rapidly, obviously not used to such a quick dismissal of her irresistible charms. It was clear Josephine felt slighted by Cole's lack of interest in her. After a few moments, Josephine's expression changed and Ember didn't particularly like the way the gorgeous woman's grey eyes raked Cole's form, as if seeing him as a challenge she could conquer.

Cole must not have liked that look either for he moved closer to Ember, until he stood right next to her, his arm touching hers, and they both shuddered at the contact.

Vivienne's eyes narrowed on the spot where Cole's arm touched Ember's. "Inquisitor, darling," Vivienne started in a slow drawl in her distinguishable haughty tone. "This  _thing_  is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here."

"Cole warned us about Corypheus at Haven," Ember stated. "He saved a lot of lives. He saved mine. I believe he wants to help."

Ember ignored the way Cole's eyes shift to her face in quiet gratitude.

"And what will its help cost?" Vivienne replied harshly. "How many lives will this demon later claim?"

"How are you so sure Cole's a demon? Demons almost never look like something you'd mistake for a person, Vivienne," Dorian supplied.

Solas' chin lifted loftily. "The magister is correct. Demons normally enter the world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre. Monstrous. But Cole has willfully manifested in human form without possessing anything or anyone, without being summoned or bound, and yet he appears human in all respects."

"In all respects?" Cullen asked.

Solas raised an eyebrow. "He has a body that is as human as yours, Commander."

Sera scratched her head while eyeing Cole like one did a rattlesnake. "So, wha? Creepy's got a prick filled with the Fade?" She snorted and then cackled at something in her head. "When it comes does it create a rift?"

"His body is just as any other young man's," Solas muttered to the other elf before addressing the group. "Cole is unique. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest we allow him to do so."

"I agree with Solas," Ember murmured as she continued to stare at Cole who was staring right back at her, missing the way Cullen's jaw clenched just enough to give away his displeasure.

"The people will not trust the Inquisition if they know we are harboring a demon, Inquisitor," Cullen began, his voice as firm as the set of his shoulders. "The soldiers will not allow it, the refugees will be fearful, the mages will revolt, and the nobles will stop funding us."

"I know about the templars - twisted, manipulated, corrupted," Cole burst out, desperate, grasping for straws that would allow him to stay.

Cullen's eyes narrowed on him. "How do you know that?"

"They are red inside," Cole replied. "I've been watching the templars at Therinfal Redoubt."

Ember asked, "What were you doing at Therinfal Redoubt?"

Cole shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I wanted the templars to stop me if I harmed people, but I had to stop them instead."

"Why?" Ember inquired.

"Most sounded the same, but the leaders they listened to were hurt, hollowed, sick with a new song. They swallowed lies until they sang with darker music. The sound hollowed them. They're heavy with forgotten songs to be big, to kill everything."

"Stop speaking in riddles, demon," Cassandra demanded. "Tell us why they take it?"

Cole sighed. "The leaders took the lyrium that is red from the leader, Samson, the one working for the Elder One. The red lyrium is different, darker. Daggers under the skin. It eats you inside, until you're nothing. They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead and dark and done."

Ember froze in horror, a wave of pressure crashing from her throat to her gut. Her pulse quickened, her throat went dry, and her lips parted in fear. "D-Did you just say  _Samson_?"

"Yes," Cole confirmed.

Ember tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "As in the ex-templar from Kirkwall with the lyrium addiction?"

Cole nodded. "Yes. The leader of the red templars."

Ember's terror-filled thoughts only fueled the tangle of apprehensive and dreadful knots twisting inside her gut. It was hard to breathe, to swallow, when everything inside turned to rock.

_Shit._

The Inquisitor turned away to hide her expression from the others, not wanting them to see the dread she knew was showing on her face.

_Shit, shit, shit._

She knew her past would come back to bite her in the ass, she just didn't expect this. Dammit, of all people it had to be Samson. She would need to discreetly overcome her own past to preserve in the present.

"What do you want to do, sweeting?" Leliana asked and the room grew quiet.

The Inquisitor placed her hands on the War Table as she thought. "I want a vote from the advisors. Do you think Cole should stay or go?"

Cullen voted no, while Leliana and Josephine voted yes, arguing that Cole had intel on the red templars that they sorely needed.

Ember already knew what she was going to do. She just prayed she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her entire life. After a long pause, she replied, "Regardless of what Cole is, he has knowledge we do not about the red templars. We need to go to Therinfal Redoubt right away and see what the hell is going on there. Corypheus' influence is at work and we need to stop it. Cole will accompany us on this mission."

Cullen stepped toward her, shaking his head. "But Inquisitor-"

She held up her hand and spoke with authority. "Cole  _will_  accompany us on this mission. I promise nothing else. We will discuss what to do with Cole after we return from Therinfal Redoubt."

She didn't miss the slight flex of Cullen's jaw as he answered. "This is a mistake, Inquisitor. But I will trust your judgment."

The Inquisitor nodded. "We will all go to Therinfal Redoubt. Cullen and Leliana will join us as well." Flames danced in the green fields of her eyes, hardly any blue showing. "The red templars will pay for Haven. We will show them our hearts, and then show them  _theirs_."

"Hell yeah!" Bull exclaimed slamming a fist in his palm.

"Dismissed," Ember ordered.

Vivienne held her head high, her eyes raking the Inquisitor with apparent disappointment and scorn. "Inquisitor, whether Cole is a spirit or a demon is irrelevant. Neither can be trusted. Remember that, darling." And with that, the enchantress turned on her heel and left the others in her wake.

The Inquisitor's companions and advisors nodded at her in understanding before filing out of the War Room after the Lady of Iron, until all that remained was Cole on one side of the War Table and Ember on the other, her fingers drumming on the wooden surface.

"Before we go on this mission, Cole, we have to get a few things straight," she began, her voice carefully devoid of emotion. "If you are to fight alongside us, I expect you to follow order."

The weight of his gaze settled on her. "Where you lead, I will follow."

"I believe you wish to help, but I will not allow you to threaten the lives of innocents." The flash that kindled in her more green eyes was down right dangerous. "If you start killing innocents again, Cole… I  _will_  kill you."

"Yes. If I become a monster again, cut me down."

She pushed away from the War Table. "Do not doubt me. I will do it."

"Good. I don't want to hurt innocent people again."

She blinked, her gaze turning incredulous. "You're… serious, aren't you?"

He pinned her with a look beneath his hat. "Yes. I hope you are, too."

All the color immediately washed from her face as she thought about it… about actually killing him. Could she do it? Could she kill Cole? Then again, how could she not if he actually started killing innocent people again? For a second or two, she jittered on the ragged fringe of cold, raw panic as the thought dragged across her brain like a piece of broken glass.

Ember blinked and Cole was suddenly across the room, leaning into her. She didn't know how he'd gotten from all the way over there to right in front of her, but he was there now, in her personal space, making it his own.

Yes, she could kill him. And it would destroy her.

She looked up at him, her eyes desperate and pleading. "Please… please don't put me in that position, Cole. I couldn't bear it if…"

He stepped closer, their knees brushing. "No one, especially you, gets hurt because of me." His voice and those eyes vibrated through to the marrow of her bones.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Iris_  by The Goo Goo Dolls.


	11. Envy

_My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours_

_For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one_

_\- Chanter Devons by the Lothering Chanter's Board_

The Inquisitor and her companions immediately set out for Therinfal Redoubt. The great fortress formerly served as a training facility for the Seekers of Truth, but was abandoned due to lack of finances, until recently when it became inhabited by the templars. According to Cole, Corypheus' was influencing the templars there. They needed to stop it.

For most of the trip the October air was chilly and crisp, with a vast blue sky overhead as they rode their horses west through the valley, across dew-covered meadows glinting with sunshine, while all around them stood rugged hills, studded with stands of post oak and evergreen cedar brakes.

They set up camp at night where they would pitch tents and sit around a fire enjoying the dinner that Solas or Leliana made. They would laugh and talk animatedly about a fight that had occurred that day or tell jokes, stories, or rehash past battles.

Ember would always slip away and sleep by herself a few yards away from the others. She never slept in a tent. She always laid on her back on the soft green grass, hands behind her fiery red head, staring up at the endless expanse of stars that dotted the night sky.

Cole had come with them, but he stood apart from the rest. Among her companions he was an island of alienation. He didn't speak much and when he did it was typically only with Ember. He'd told her it was strange being with people who could see him. He'd wished for it for so long, and yet now he could feel their eyes upon him even when they weren't looking his way. It made his skin crawl. Each time he spoke and they responded, it made him jump, so he tried to speak as little as possible. Even among a group of people who could see him, he still felt like an outsider. He wondered if maybe it was supposed to be that way, that maybe it was part of his curse. Ember told him that some people just weren't meant to belong, and that she was one of them. If she didn't belong and he didn't belong, then at least they wouldn't belong together. He'd liked that. The smile he'd given her still lingered in her mind.

The few times Cole did speak to the others was when he could sense the hurt in one of them. He would explain what it was he felt and then ask them questions to try and understand so that he could mend it. Her companions did not like talking with him at first, but Cole slowly started to win over a few of them.

Bull, who in the beginning had not trusted Cole enough even to speak one word to him, was now teaching the young man about cussing, drinking, fighting, and women while Varric seemed to have adopted him. A friendship had already formed between Cole and Solas, and even Cassandra, Leliana, and Dorian were surprisingly civil to him. Ember believed the others would come around in time.

As they neared the end of their three day long trek from Skyhold to Therinfal Redoubt, they all dismounted their horses and walked through the fog-covered hills and pine-filled valleys that surrounded the fortress. Ember walked beside her pure white, Imperial Warmblood that Cole had named Tadwinks, which had led to Sera shouting at him that the name was hers and he wasn't allowed to use it.

Moments later, Cullen pulled his horse up beside Ember. He leaned into her and whispered, "It's watching you intently again, studying you. It's odd and unsettling. Why does it watch you like that?"

Ember's eyebrows drew together. "Like what?"

"Like…  _prey_."

Ember discreetly looked at Cole over her shoulder. He was looking at her as though he were a starving wolf and she was his next meal.

She knew what he was. Killer. Murderer. Demon. But the knowledge of what he was didn't keep her from noticing the fact that Cole was beautiful. Not to mention how those depthless blue eyes never seemed to look at anything but her, and when they did they didn't stray long. But his physical appeal didn't blind her to the fact that he was also incredibly dangerous. Fear still twisted in the pit of her stomach, along with something else she didn't want to acknowledge.

Ember quickly looked away and began ascending a steep hill when all of a sudden she tripped on a patch of slick ground. She fell backward, her horse's reins falling from her hand, and landed on her back. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she could hear Sera laughing at her.

"Did you just fall, Inky?"

Ember's lips curled over, creating a frown. "No," she grumbled as she picked herself up. "I saw a demon and so I-"

"Fell?" Sera answered, laughing even harder.

"Shut it," she replied as she tried to get the dirt and grass off of her clothes.

Some distance behind the Inquisitor, Bull drew up alongside Cole and asked, "So… Cole… you have a real body, don't you?"

Cole's chin tucked and his eyes became hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat, but his head nodded and he murmured, "Yes."

"A human body? A male body?"

"Yes."

"So… what do you plan to do with it?" Bull asked with a smirk.

"Help."

Bull's smirk deepened. "I know what I'd do if I suddenly became a complete man. I'd-"

"You should not encourage that thing," Vivienne chastised.

Cole blinked at her. "The Iron Bull is not a thing."

"HA!" Bull barked out a loud laugh. "Well said, Cole."

"You're afraid," Cole said to Vivienne. "You don't have to be."

Vivienne made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "My dear Inquisitor, please restrain your pet demon. I do not want it addressing me."

Blue-green eyes rolled. Ember blew a red curl out of her face as she grumbled, "He's not doing any harm, Vivienne."

"It's a demon, darling. All it can do is harm."

"Hey Viv! Vivvy! Look at this! I've got something for you!" Sera laughed.

Vivienne sighed. "Darling, it's your bottom. Again. As bony and sad as it was the last dozen times you've displayed it."

"It's my butt!"

"Maker, however shall I endure this horror. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

Once they reached Therinfal Redoubt they each donned their armor and weapons. Ember pulled out her twin daggers and turned them lovingly over in her hands before kissing each and strapping them to her back.

Varric watched her and scratched his cheek as he muttered to Cole, "She always does that before a fight. It's weird."

Cole's eyes tracked Ember's every move as she finished arming herself. "One is her sorrow and one is her memories, both solid and strong but sharp and scarred, like her. Scar on her side, I was too slow, but they were furious in their retribution, blood for blood. Faded burns on her neck and scars on her back, old pain from those that should have protected her. She uses her memories and her sorrow to make sure it never happens again. Her little smiles when she takes them in her hands, kissing each one for good luck. I'm envious of both each time she does it."

Varric stared at Cole, bewildered. "Well… shit."

Cole's cheeks pinkened beneath his hat and Varric smiled knowingly.

"So… content to pine in silence, gazing at the dear Inquisitor from afar?"

Cole said nothing as he bent to brush some dirt off his pants, his hat hiding his eyes, but Varric could see that the pink in his cheeks had darkened.

"I could help, you know," Varric offered with a nudge of his elbow. "Nothing stirs the heart like a well-written word."

Cole looked pointedly down at the dwarf. "Bianca is a very pretty name."

Varric's wicked grin faltered. "I'll tell her you said so, Kid."

"She can't actually hear you, can she?"

"Of course she can," Varric replied, patting his crossbow.

Cole's head tilted, eyes questioning. "Do the others know the story?"

Varric's smile vanished immediately. "No, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it that way, Kid."

Cole frowned. "It's a sad story."

Varric looked away. "Most stories based on real life are."

"It had a happy beginning though."

A tiny, bittersweet smile formed on Varric's face. "Yeah. It did."

"Do you regret it?" Cole asked quietly.

Amber eyes met ice blue. "Never."

Cole's gaze shifted to Ember's back. "I think I understand."

Varric followed Cole's gaze and nodded. "I think you do, Kid."

After a long pause Cole asked, "Should I change my hat? Do you think she'll like that?"

"Nah, if she's busy staring at your hat, she's ignoring all your other flaws."

Cole's lips quirked slightly in one corner. "Like a silk shirt with three buttons left undone."

Varric chuckled. "If you did that you'd probably make her faint, Kid. I've seen the way she looks at you."

"She looks at him like he's a friggin' scarecrow 'cause that's wha' he is," Sera muttered as she walked passed them. "You're both nutters."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Tell me what you think. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you see." A howling voice echoed around her.

"You're hurting, helpless, hasty." Came Cole's voice in response.

There was a loud screech. "What are you? Get out! This is my place!"

Ember blinked her eyes open. "Cole?"

"Yes. I am here."

"Where are we?" Ember asked as she looked around the room she now found herself in. It was strange. It kind of looked like the dungeons of the White Spire, but there was furniture here, and rooms. Trees were growing in the corners of some of the rooms. Some of the furniture was on the ceiling or the walls. Paintings were upside down. Really strange.

"We're inside you," Cole said directly behind her. She swung around, and found him right in front of her, but his feet were on the ceiling and he was hanging upside down in front of her, his hat not falling off. "Or I am inside you. You're always inside you."

_Oh. My Maker. Did he just say he was inside me?_

Cole didn't notice the way her entire face had flamed to a bright red and continued casually, "Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It's easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you're hearing. But I'm here, hearing, helping. I hope."

She released an unsteady breath as she murmured, "The least I can ask is that things make sense  _in my own head_."

Cole chuckled softly, a husky, friendly sound that made a responsive smile tug at her mouth. "It never works like that."

"So, what's going on?"

"An envy demon is wearing the Lord Seeker's face. It was the one that twisted the templar commanders, forced their fury, their fight."

"What does it want?"

"It wants to be you. You're frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. Mirrors on mirrors on mirrors. A face it can feel but not take. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here."

"How do we get out?"

Cole suddenly appeared on the bed in the room, sitting on the headboard, his feet rumpling the sheets. "It's your head. I hoped  _you'd_  know how to stop it."

She frowned. "Well… I don't."

The ghost of a smile curled his lips beneath the brim of his hat. "At least I'm inside you."

Ember groaned, dropping her head into her hands, her thick heavy mass of wildly springy curls bouncing around her shoulders with the movement. "Will you  _please_  stop saying that?"

"Do you not want me inside you?"

She groaned into her hands, her face on fire. She truly thought she'd die of mortification. "Maker, Cole. Please just tell me something that can help us get out of my head."

"Okay. All of this is Envy. People, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out."

Her head lifted, her face still the same shade as her hair. "So… if we keep moving in my 'head,' we tire Envy into submission?"

Cole shrugged. "Yes. No. Maybe. I hope it helps. It's more than sitting here waiting to lose your face. You need to keep your face. I like your face. It's my favorite face."

She laughed, but it came out nervous and shaky. "Yes. Face off is bad."

They left the room and walked out into the hallway.

"Get out, thing!" Envy screamed.

Cole remained calm as he spoke to her, "You're too strong for it. Too bright. It can't replicate starlight."

Envy screeched in rage. "Shut up! Thing!"

Cole's lips pulled up the slightest bit in one corner. "It's frightened of you."

Her chin lifted with defiance, her eyes flashing forked lightnings of fury. "It should be. No one takes my face," she growled low in her throat. "You hear me, demon! I'm going to find you and when I do, I'm going to beat you so hard candy comes out!"

"You don't frighten me! That thing can't help you!" Envy bellowed, furious. "You can't stop me! I am learning!"

An image of Ember in chains and being interrogated by Cassandra appeared in front of them and the memory of first seeing the Anchor on her hand for the first time played right before their eyes. When it was done, they moved to the next room and she asked, "What was that?"

"A memory. Your memory. It's learning. It wants to be you."

Envy screeched. "I need more! Wait… this one is powerful. This one has been tampered with!"

Ember noticed the way Cole's body visibly tensed beside her, but before she could ask him what was wrong, an image of a solitary farmhouse located in the middle of nowhere rippled to life in front of them and everything inside of her solidified to stone. It was all she could do not to recoil as if slapped at the image of her parents' farm, something she never wanted to see ever again.

"What… what is this?" Her throat was so tight the words came out like a croak.

Cole looked at her with empathy. "It is a dark memory, soaked in blood and pain."

It was sad how that description alone wasn't specific enough for her to know which memory this was. But as soon as the side of the house was in view, she knew what memory this was. It was a long-lost memory of when she was eight-years-old. It was a memory she didn't want to remember, but was forced to watch as it played out in front of her eyes.

" _There you are," her father slurred heavily, the stink of alcohol on his breath as he looked down at her young crouched figure that was up until then hidden behind a large bush outside of their house, the night helping conceal her._

" _Please, Daddy. Please. I'll be good. I promise. Please," young Ember begged, silently wishing she had hid behind the oak tree on the other side of the house._

_He grabbed her thin, little arm forcefully._

" _No. Please, Daddy. Please, please, please…"_

_Her father's open palm swung at her, but the alcohol made him slow. She quickly ducked and struck out at his unprotected middle with all her strength. He bent forward, an arm wrapped protectively around his middle. Before she could run she felt the hard force of his knuckles slam against her face and she fell to the grass, a little heap of bony legs and arms, oversized clothes, and a long heavy mass of deep crimson curls. Her lower-lip split on contact, and the entire left side of her small face immediately begin to swell and bruise._

" _Evil little witch!" Her father spat down at her before grabbing her thin arm and hauling her to her small feet. "You know you deserve this."_

_Her free hand came up and hit him hard across the throat. His hand fell from her arm to hold his throat as he choked._

_She turned and started to run when he shoved her little back from behind. The child fell hard onto her stomach the air rushing out of her lungs once her chest hit the hard ground. He grabbed her tiny ankle and began to drag her towards the barn, the one she hadn't burned down with only her hands._

" _No! Someone help me! Please! Someone help me!" Her little eight-year-old self screamed into the night as her fingernails clawed into the earth. She saw her mother looking out the window of the house, watching. "Mommy! Please help me! Mommy!" Her mother closed the curtain. Ember yelled and thrashed about trying to get loose. She turned onto her side and kicked her father with her free leg in the back of his knee._

_He lost his grip on her ankle and she scrambled to her feet and began to run, but her relief was short lived as a hand swiftly seized the collar of her tunic from behind and dragged her backwards. Her cry was choked against the cheap rough fabric that was digging into her neck as her father wrenched her back against him. His arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her off her feet. She slammed the back of my head into his nose and he swore loudly before flinging her to the ground._

_Ember landed on all fours, barely having time to recuperate before her father reached down and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her up onto her scraped knees. She clawed at his arm to get away, drawing blood. Hissing, he took a handful of her hair and started dragging her behind him towards the barn again, random rocks cutting into her back, her scalp on fire._

_Once they entered the barn, her father hit her hard across the jaw with an open palm. The force of the hit flew her back across the ground in the dark barn. After a few moments of being dazed she slowly moved to her knees spitting out blood into the dirt. She had spent most of the night trying to dodge him, but her wits had not been enough, and now her speed and strength weren't enough either. She had not eaten or had anything to drink since three nights ago. She wasn't big enough. She wasn't tough enough. She wasn't cunning enough. She wasn't fast enough. She wasn't strong enough. She was too weak to save herself, and she loathed it._

_Her father marched up to her and kicked her square in the face sending her flying onto her back with her knees bent under her painfully._

_"Get up, you abomination!" His voice resonated in the barn and pierced her ears as if it were poison. She fell to her side with a groan, her body drenched in a cold sweat. With her cheek resting in the dirt, she instinctively searched the dark barn but was unable to locate her abuser in the darkness. But within seconds she heard faint footsteps getting closer and she found herself trembling, partly in fear and partly in rage._

_"Well, didn't you hear me? Get up!" Her father shrieked as he glared down at her with so much hate and revulsion._

_Wincing, she gradually sat up and staggered to her feet, her swollen face covered in blood, bruises, and dirt. Once standing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared her father in the eyes, her gaze ferocious and resilient, terrifying on the face of someone so young, the fire of her hair only adding to her fierceness._

_Her father approached her. He bent down and caught her by the chin and bent to her eye level so that they could gaze into each other's eyes, one pair in hateful contempt and the other in sadistic disgust._

" _You deserve this, you know you do," he said before letting go of her chin._

_Her father's lips curled into a dangerous smile that made her shudder, for she knew exactly what was to come. He grabbed her long red curls and dragged her to the all to familiar metal hook that was hanging from a chain attached to the roof of the barn. He grabbed both of her little wrists in his hand and tied a metal chain around them. He lifted her tied hands over her head and attached the metal hook hanging from the ceiling to the chains around her wrists._

_Her father went to the chains by the wall and pulled on them until she was lifted off of her feet, hanging by the hook with her arms over her head. She dug her little chin into her chest and breathed deeply as the cool night air whipped across her face. She knew what was coming._

_Don't scream. Don't cry. Don't break. Her mind repeated those three words over and over again. Don't scream. Don't cry. Don't break._

_In preparation, she closed her eyes and drew in slow regular breaths before letting her eyes slowly open to stare up at the stars she could see through the hole in the roof as she waited for what was to come._

_"I am going to beat the demon out of you, mage, or turn you over to the templars," she heard her father say behind her and the sound of squeaking leather from the whip she knew was in his hands._

" _Why are you doing this, Daddy? Please. I'm your daughter. I can't help that I'm-"_

" _I have no daughter."_

_Ember shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and clenched her body as she listened to her father raise his arm and bring the whip down on her small back. With a crack, searing hot and horrendous pain flashed through her along with the sickening sound of cloth and flesh being torn. Her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as pain exploded behind her eyes. The one slash burned against the cold barn atmosphere from her shoulder to her hip as zaps of agony continued to flash through her._

_Before she could recover, her father brought down another lash. It was deep and sent raw, searing, agonizing pain pulsing through her. This one was horizontal, from one side to the other. She felt all of it, from beginning to end. She burned with anger, hate, and desperation at the same time._

_After two more lashes, she was breathing hard and couldn't hold her head up. The cuts were not deep enough to be deadly, but the lashes had broken the skin and she was bleeding freely from them. She heard her father's voice, but her brain could not focus beyond the agony blazing her nerve endings._

_Pain again, the sickening sound of the air splitting as the whip descended. She gritted her teeth against the need to scream and cry, her body wrecked with agony as blood dripped down her back, soaking her tunic and pants._

_Moments later, she felt herself being lowered back to the earth. The moment her feet touched the ground she crumbled to it in a heap. Her father threw the whip aside and faced her directly, looking down at her in repulsion and repugnance. She glared up at him, loathing him, not afraid to let him see the hate she felt for him. Magic licked her skin, the power beckoning, begging her to use it on him, but she didn't know how to summon it._

" _The demon remains." With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the barn and into the blackness of the night. Her father returned minutes later with a small band of men that wore metal armor that bore the symbol of a flaming sword._

_Templars._

" _Take the little bitch and her foul magic," her father spat as he turned his back on her and walked back to the house, glad to be rid of her._

" _You know nothing of magic," little Ember muttered under her breath as she watched him happily leave her to a fate some would say was crueler than death._

_The templar heard, however, and gave her a hard slap across the face before grabbing her roughly by the throat. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. You will learn that well, little mageling," the templar taunted, smirking and the hatred she had for him and those like him only elevated._

_"I – serve - no one," she managed to cough out with a spittle of blood just as the templar painfully tightened his grip on her throat._

_No one would ever rule over her. No one._

_She wheezed under the pressure, almost positive that he was going to crush her windpipe. Her head felt like it was exploding, and she knew all the blood was being cut off from her brain. She felt cold and hot at the same time, and hoped it would be over soon. And it was, because the templar quickly let go and she fell to her knees clutching her throat. She immediately proceeded in coughing and taking in deep breathes, her head throbbing until she felt her vision and heartbeats regain normality._

_"Now," the templar spoke down to her. "You will learn your place and how mages are to behave or else you'll be made tranquil. Do you know what tranquil means?"_

_Ember let go of her throat and stared up at him defiantly from her knees as he stood over her, wild red curls flowing all around her._

" _Put the little mageling in the cage, boys," the templar ordered and two other templars grabbed her by her arms and carried her to a horse drawn wagon. They opened the door to a small cage meant for animals and shoved her in and slammed the door closed. She heard the bolt slide into place. The templars got on their horses and the one driving the wagon cracked his whip and the horses moved forward._

_In the cage that smelled of blood, vomit, and piss, little Ember lay on her side with one hand pressed against her stomach and the other outstretched in front of her, her palm facing upward. Her face was swollen and covered in blood, the delicate bones broken, one eye completely swollen shut. The pain, it pulsed and breathed like a living thing, like a heartbeat completely separate from her own. It seemed like the pain would never end and was only going to get worse._

_She was captured. Caged. Her will would soon be broken by the templars. Her spirit would be nothing but dust after everything she'd done to keep it. Her eyes were dull and lifeless as they lifted to stare up at the stars through the metal bars as the wagon carried her to her new hell. She wasn't waiting to be rescued or asking for help._

_At eight-years-old, Ember was praying for death._

_Suddenly, the air in front of her shifted. Energy swelled and bloomed in front of her. She could sense the Fade, powerful and frightening and wonderful all at once._

_It was a spirit._

_She didn't know how she knew, she just knew. And though her eyes saw nothing in front of her and her ears heard nothing around her, she could sense that there was a spirit right in front of her and it was holding her hand._

_Her parents had beaten her, starved her, tortured her, burned a brand into the back of her neck and never once did she cry. But the moment that spirit held her hand, tears filled her eyes. At its touch she felt a warmth spread outwards from the very center of her being, infusing her body with comfort, a sense of safety, and love. It was like being held close, cradled… a bond forming, one she was unable to extricate herself, nor did she wish to. How any person could not be brought to tears by the touch of such a benevolent being was beyond her._

_Run._

_That one word echoed in her mind, as if someone else planted it there. It was only then that she noticed the door to her cage was open, though she had no idea when that had happened or how it was possible._

_Run._

_That one small word served as a rooting point for her addled brain, anchoring her violently back into reality. Her body instantly grabbed hold of hope and used it to prop herself up by pressing her bloody palms onto the cage floor. With trembling arms, she crawled forward through the cage door. The overall weakness of her body made itself known with each muscle screaming in pain and in protest at her slow but determined movements. Once she reached the edge, she jumped off the back of the wagon, the templars oblivious to her disappearance._

_Once she was on her feet, she ran. She ran as fast as she could, refusing to let her many injuries slow her down. The spirit guided her by whispering single words in her mind - left, right, run, stop. It helped her find food, water, healing potions, and a change of clothes. It guided her all the way from the countryside of Orlais to a small wooden cabin located just outside of Lothering. When a pretty young woman with short, choppy black hair and brilliant blue eyes spotted her and ran to help her, the spirit whispered one last word into her eight-year-old mind._

_Forget._

The memory rippled in front of the Inquisitor before beginning to fade. Ember was staring forward, unmoving, unspeaking. Several moments passed and she didn't look anywhere but at the spot where the memory had played before her eyes.

Silence.

Deadly silence.

As the memory faded to nothing, a vulnerable moment surfaced in its wake. Ember found herself fighting the rawness of the emotions it stirred within her. The room, or her mind rather, was closing in on her, the past a wicked gloved hand wrapped around her throat, making breathing and thinking nearly impossible. She stood completely still, her chest rising and falling swiftly, her shoulders heaving as a wave of sorrow and anger washed over her as her hellish past hit her in the gut like a dragon tail.

Helpless. That's what she'd been. And she couldn't bear the idea of being that way again.

The hated and horrific memory was still pounding at her brain, a memory she'd spent fifteen years denying shredding her into pieces she was having trouble holding together. She was on the edge of the present and the past, loss and pain and confusion eating away at her.

"Ember," she heard Cole say gently beside her, but she didn't respond. She wasn't sure she was even breathing.

"Ember," Cole said again and her gaze snapped to the side at the sharp command in his voice.

"What are you feeling?" Cole asked urgently, his features carved with concern. "I listen - listen listened listening - I hear no song. Silence. Only silence. I sense nothing of your pain. I hate it. I need to know what you feel."

Ember looked back at the spot where the memory had played, her eyebrows bunching together as suspicion gnawed at her brain.

She didn't remember it like that.

She didn't remember a spirit being there the night she escaped her parents and the templars.

"Let's keep going," she answered thickly. "I want to get out of my head."

They moved silently to the next room. There they watched another tampered memory. It was when Malcolm Hawke and Ember had gone to Redcliffe and Teagan Guerrin had betrayed Malcolm to the templars. The spirit had been there to, helping her escape.

They moved to the next room and the next memory was when she escaped the ship being taken by Captain Isabela. The spirit had been there too. The next memory was when Fenris had his hand inside of her chest and was about to kill her. The spirit had been there too, helping her. Each time the last word the spirit said to her was  _forget_.

The last memory slowly faded to nothing. Beside her there was a soft sound and awareness rushed over her, reminding her Cole was here. Ember looked down, only then realizing that she was gripping Cole's hand with hers. She gave him a long glance, blue-green eyes watery and wavering. "It… it was you."

Light blue eyes shifted to hers, watching her. He said nothing. He didn't have to. The truth was right there in his eyes.

"You were the brightest thing I'd ever seen. Glittering. Glaring. Glinting." His words were rough, vehement. "I  _had_  to protect you."

Her brain stuttered. "I just can't… how… Maker, it was you… it's… it's always been you." She shook her head, her eyes bleak with unshed tears, unable to believe Cole had been watching over her, protecting her since she was eight-years-old. "Have you known all along?"

He shook his head, blonde hair swaying in front of his eyes. "I made myself forget when I made myself real. When I remembered what I was, I remembered everything before." His eyes pierced hers. "I remembered you."

"You… you saved me." She drew in breath, but couldn't catch it. "Why… why would you do that? If you wanted to possess me, you would have done it then. I would have let you. You know that. But you didn't. Instead, you made me forget you. You just wanted to help me… protect me?"

"That's all I've ever wanted." He was in her space then, leaning into her. His chin tucked and his eyes clashed with hers. "They hurt you. Betrayed you. The ones you trusted most."

"Yes." Her voice caught, snagged on a tear, and faded to nothing.

Cole leaned down into her and planted his face inches from hers, eyes fixed and unblinking. "That's not me," Cole husked, those eyes seeming to bore into her with their intensity. "Trust in me, dear heart."

Her eyes fell away from his, sliding to the side, her chin turning away with them. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, halting the retreat. Her eyes clenched shut, chin wobbling in his fingers. There was a stupid burning sensation in her eyes that she really didn't want to become tears. She hated crying, hadn't done so in years. It was a weakness she couldn't afford having. She sucked in a breath, fighting the icy knot in her chest. Somehow Cole had crawled under her defenses and reached an emotional spot she'd never wanted anyone to touch. Ever.

One tear dewed on her eyelashes before slipping through the dense black lashes to fall unwillingly from the corner of her eye. The single tear rolled slowly over the corner of her eye, over her cheekbone, the hollow beneath, lower still until a pair of dry lips pressed over it on her jawline. She felt the tip of his tongue lightly brush her skin as he licked the teardrop, taking that piece of her into his mouth, into himself.

When she felt him pull back she turned her chin and opened her eyes into his. She swallowed before stepping into him. Both hands lifted, her fingers running lightly down his face. She instantly felt a strange warmth travel along her hands from where her fingertips touched him. It chased through her and finally settled in her chest, burning there, stirring feelings that she'd long refused to acknowledge existed.

Cole's body snapped taut at her touch, brow furrowed, his eyes shifting back and forth almost frantically between hers. "W-What are y-you…?"

When her fingers reached his chin, they went back up his jawline, over his cheekbones, his temples. Her fingers slid through his shaggy honeyed hair, the thick silken locks soft between her fingers as she smoothed his hair and hat back from his face to peer deep into his eyes.

"I'm looking," she replied a little breathlessly as she stared deep into those haunted depths.

Cole took her heart-shaped face in his two hands, taut fingers splayed wide against her cheeks, his calloused palms rough against her flushed skin. His warm breath blew against her face, ragged and quick. His eyes were large and wild as they delved desperately into the depths of her soul. Ember stared up at him and watched his eyes intently search hers.

After several moments of shallow breaths, Cole exhaled a heavy breath that sounded soul deep, "You  _see_  me." There was relief in the depths of his eyes, as if he'd been hanging off a ledge and she'd just lowered him a rope.

The air shifted between them, and she could almost feel the bonds between them weaving tighter as she nodded slowly. "You are not a monster, and you never will be." She held his gaze with unwavering confidence, wanting him to feel the honesty in her words.

His eyebrows drew apart and he let out a quick rush of air as if he'd been holding it in for five years, waiting for those exact words. Before she could think of a response, his hands left her face to rest on the small of her back. He pulled her in carefully, slowly, giving her every opportunity to run before pressing her fully against him. When she offered no resistance, he released a low, raw sound before she was engulfed, enfolded by his lean arms. Effortlessly, his compassion and comfort seeped into every crack others had made in her heart, sealing it.

Ember turned her head to the side and let her cheek rest against his collarbone, her palms pressed against the learn muscle of his chest. "This," she whispered on an unsteady breath as her arms pulled away from his chest to slide around him, fitting in the dip of his back. "This is what I need."

Cole let a sigh leave him and relaxed against her. His shoulders sagged and he turned his head and tucked his face into her hair. "So much noise all the time – pain wrapped in hurt wrapped in pain. It resonates in my ears, bleeding them. Whispers crawling inside my head." She heard him breathe in the scent of her hair and hold his breath, as if he didn't want to let it out, wanted to keep her inside of him. "This is the only place that gives me any peace."

"Why do you think that is?" she whispered.

His hands shifted against her back, and it took all of her willpower not to shudder as his fingertips ran up her spine in a gentle caress as his breath rustled her hair around her ear, "I don't know."

It was then that Ember knew the torch she held for Cole would burn indelibly. There was no denying that she was woven into his life and he into hers. She felt Cole in ways she'd never felt another— and never wanted to.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and the truth slipped out. "I never forgot you, Cole. I wouldn't let myself." She held him to her as she let her forehead press against the side of his throat, nestling closer to him, breathing him. "All these years you… you were never alone. You were always with me."

The arms around her clenched tighter, clutched at her, holding her tightly, his arms gripping her almost painfully. She could feel him trembling.

"Cole… when we get out of here… I… I think you should stay at Skyhold." Her fingers were rigid and digging into the muscles of his back to hold him closer to her, needing to be closer. "They will not understand. They will be afraid. But I believe you truly want to help. I believe you won't hurt anyone, won't hurt me or possess me. And I… I…" Her exhaled breath rustled his hair as she turned her face into his chest. "I  _want_  you to stay," she confessed, her forehead resting on his collarbone. "Don't go, Cole." Her fingers splayed against his back. "Please, stay with me."

Cole exhaled a shuttering breath before pressing his lips to the top of her head and then resting his chin there, breathing in his favorite scent, his eyes wet and shimmering and not so shadowed as he replied softly, "Wherever there is you, there will be me too."

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Wherever You Will Go_  by Charlene Soraia (originally performed by The Calling).


	12. Treacherous

_Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs_

_The Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds_

_\- Chanter_

The Inquisitor woke in her bed in Skyhold before the first light of day, just as she always did. Ember scratched her head and yawned as she moved sluggishly to the water basin in the corner of her room. She splashed cool water on her face and chewed on a few mint leaves to freshen her breath.

The past week had gone by in a blur. Though the experience with Envy had dredged up memories she'd never wanted to remember again, it had allowed her to get past her fear and mistrust of Cole. It made her come to terms with the fact that Cole would never hurt her, never try to possess her, and she trusted him not to hurt the people at Skyhold. With that trust came a feeling of relief and submission that felt akin to a large boulder being lifted off her chest. She breathed better. One either fought against nature, or accepted it. For too long, Ember had fought against the connection she shared with Cole, one that she was now positive was not destructive, as she'd once believed.

Cole was now living at Skyhold and was officially back in her life. Cole hadn't left her side for more than a few hours since they fought Envy together. He ate lunch with her by the stables, played chess with her at night in the rookery, and they told each other everything that had happened in their lives in the five years they were apart. She told him about how she'd finally found Leliana and how she became an agent of the Left Hand of the Divine. He told her about Rhys and Evangeline, Wynne and Shale, and even Leliana and Lord Seeker Lambert. She couldn't deny the heated tightening of jealousy in her chest when Cole had called Evangeline the "pretty" templar and admitted to seeing that pretty templar naked. But the tightening loosened slightly when Cole told her how Rhys and Evangeline were now married and working with the Inquisition. Ember decided she would dig through the massive pile of reports on her desk to see if she could find out where they were.

Each day spent with him made her realize just how much she'd missed him. She felt like she had her best friend back. Self-appointed bodyguard, enforcer, protector, advisor, friend, Cole was everything for Ember. He made her feel bigger than she could possibly be, larger than life, on fire with possibilities, ecstatic to be breathing, impatient for the next moment with him.

She brought Cole on every mission and each time she fought back-to-back with him strengthened the bond she knew they shared. Knowing that every time she walked into a fight she had somebody watching her back that she trusted completely was one of the greatest feelings in the world. She could battle an Archdemon, grinning like an idiot, as long as Cole was beside her. As long as she could glance over at him and he'd give her that barely there smile that told her she wasn't alone - a smile she returned to ensure he knew he wasn't alone either.

Ember spit the mint leaves out and washed her mouth out with water. She stood and turned to find the necklace Cole had made for her resting on her spar pillow. She smiled at the sight of it, sighing with relief, before securing it around her neck where it belonged. She then removed her tights and loose tunic to wear her new armor that Josie had bought for her.

It was superior hunter armor with black leather boots that reached her knees, dark great bear hide pants, tight ring velvet cloth that covered her arms and wrapped around her torso, and a matching great bear hide cropped jacket. The ring velvet cloth matched the color of her eyes and brought out the deep red color of her hair.

Ember looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. She tried to run her fingers through her curls, but it was a lost cause. She might not be a raving beauty like Leliana or Josephine, but she did have many other good qualities. She was loyal once she was able to trust, dedicated, passionate, and would fight to the death for the few precious people in her life. Ties didn't come easily to her, but once formed they were as unbreakable as steel. She could offer the embodiment of compassion something he'd never had - a home within herself. With her, Cole would always belong. She would always remember him, always see him, and care for him. If only she could figure out a way to tell him that.

The Inquisitor walked out of her quarters and into the empty throne room, the rest of the keep still fast asleep. She yawned again as she walked outside, the cool, crisp morning air greeting her. She climbed the stone steps two at a time to the eastern wall. The sun hadn't risen yet, but it had grown light enough to paint everything outside blue-purple-gray. She turned a corner and then another, the light breeze ruffling her hair. As she approached their meeting spot, she found Cole already there, waiting for her, just like he did every morning.

In the weak morning light, Cole was pacing back and forth on the eastern wall. He looked supremely dangerous dressed in the new black armor that Leliana had got for him. He wore black boots and fingerless black gloves that were lined with fur, and tight black leather pants that hung low on his narrow hips that allowed him to move silent as death in battle. His torso and arms were covered with a form-fitting, long-sleeved tunic made of black wool that reached the tops of his thighs. Over the tunic he wore a black leather cuirass that adorned his chest, back, and shoulders. The leather cuirass was made up of small square obsidian armor plates connected to each other by chain armor and sewn to a black leather backing.

The moment Cole saw her, the tension in his face relaxed. There was a promise of a smile that hovered on pale lips just below blue, alien eyes. She was touched by the brightness of his eyes at the sight of her. In fact, he looked relieved, as if he feared she wouldn't show. It made her feel less alone and, at the same time, just as restless as he'd been only seconds before as he continued to stare at her, profoundly intense, as if the mere sight of her riveted him as much as she was frozen by the sight of him.

After a long pause, Cole tore his gaze from hers and hopped up onto the stone wall and reached beside him. He placed a warm sweet bun on a napkin on the stone wall beside him, one bite already taken out of it. The sight of Cole waiting for her with breakfast, licking a piece of icing from the corner of his mouth, filled her with an almost rabid sense of satisfaction. So much so her chest swelled with it.

The Inquisitor moved toward him and picked up the sweet bun and bit into it while hopping up onto the stone wall. They sat close on the eastern wall, feet dangling, nothing but the mountains in front of them set against a now light purple sky, enjoying the comfortable silence, inexplicable familiarity, and the confusing chemistry that bubbled in the air between them.

The birds sang their morning chorus as they began their daily search for food. The squirrels appeared to be enjoying pre-dawn play as they leaped from tree to tree. All the while, Ember ate her breakfast until nothing remained. Slowly, but surely, the sun began to rise. The glow on the horizon grew, centered around a point far in front of them—then cracked, casting red and orange across the dizzying breadth of the sky and snow covered mountains. Sunlight reached them, warming her to her bones. A shaft of sunlight streaked through her russet curls, turning them to fire.

Ember tilted, her head falling to lightly rest upon Cole's shoulder, and they both let out matched, minuscule sighs of relief at the contact. He was so warm and smelled like sweet buns, leather, and stroked fires.

Despite the calamity that was her life, there was a warm sense of comfort surrounding her now. In these moments, she knew that no matter what happened, Cole would see her through every second of her chaotic life, maybe even carrying her through it at times. He'd proven to her that she'd never feel completely hopeless and alone again, so long as he was in her life.

A dry wind blew down from the mountains, stirring his shaggy hair and whipping her long thick mane of curls around her, causing strands of gold and scarlet to mix and mingle in the breeze. Ember felt his head turn, his nose nuzzle the top of her head, then heard his deep intake of breath.

"Why do you do that?" she asked quietly.

"Do what?" he murmured against the top of her head.

"Breath my hair."

His soft, warm exhales buffeted her hair. "Years on minutes on months on years. Time stretching, ticking, devouring. But not enough of it can pass to make me forget the way your hair smells." The words escaped him on a wistful sigh. "It's my favorite smell."

Her lips curled into a tender smile. "Cole, I found my necklace on my pillow this morning…"

"It was the one I made for you." Her body warmed at his low, husky murmur so close to her ear.

"I thought I'd lost it."

"You did lose it. I had to fight a rat for it."

"Oh? Thank you. I was afraid I'd never see it again."

She felt his shoulder shrug beneath her cheek. "He wasn't a very big rat."

Once the sun's morning glow had gone from pale to red to orange to bright, harsh gold, Cole murmured, "He is waiting for you."

Ember lifted her fiery head from his shoulder and looked at him. "I don't want to speak to him. He's been lying to me."

Cole looked down to watch his finger trace a pattern on his knee. "You're lying too."

Ember stiffened, indignation lighting her aquamarine eyes. "I've lost my family because I'm a mage. I've been beaten, burned, branded on the back of my neck because of it. I've been hunted down like an animal, captured, locked away in a dark pit to rot, and almost raped because of it. I have reasons to keep what I am a secret, reasons I believe are justified."

Cole nodded, still not looking at her. "Secrets he has. Not of what he is, but of what he did. Probing and feeling, testing and searching, sensing his feelings. He is no harm to you. Redemption alone is his gold, guilt the stone he carries. The name breaks free, pulls the pain with it. A black wall to shield the self when the sky is rainier." He looked at her. "Speak with him."

She huffed in resignation. "Fine."

Cole nodded and whispered thank you.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Garden first?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Race you there?"

She frowned. "That's not fair when you can just-"

With a swirl of black shadows, Cole disappeared.

Ember growled and hopped down off the wall to race after him.

The Inquisitor spent the next few hours with Cole in the herb garden, which was where he spent a great deal of his time. He said he liked herbs because they were healing plants. He said he liked growing them to find ways to help people feel better. There was also an evergreen cinnamon tree in the garden whose thin bark naturally curled into tight rolls that Cole had grown accustomed to taking and chewing on as cinnamon sticks. He didn't eat much and slept very little in the dilapidated little room connected to the attic of the Herald's Rest tavern, but he did like those cinnamon sticks.

After more pestering by Cole, the Inquisitor forced herself to visit the stables and the man located within that she'd had under lock and key.

"It's about bloody time you came to see me," Blackwall grumbled, his ire apparent. "Now let me out of here, Inquisitor."

"I don't trust you," she said, cutting straight to it. "You've been lying to me."

Blackwall paled. "Yeah. I have at that."

"Come clean." It wasn't a request. It was a command. "You have one chance."

He exhaled warily and rubbed his long black beard, not sure where to start. "There is nothing like a Grey Warden, is there? Honorable, courageous, noble and full of valor. And I am  _nothing_  like a Grey Warden."

Her eyes tightened. "Explain."

He did. He told her everything. For the rest of the day they talked, fought a bit, then talked again until they came to an understanding and ended up at the tavern in the back corner at a small little table, drinking pints of ale.

Blackwall finished off his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tell me honestly, are you what they say you are? Andraste's chosen?"

Ember took a sip of ale. "There's so little I remember. I honestly don't know. But what if… what if I'm not?"

Blackwall shrugged. "Does it even matter? Don't you see what you are to them? Without you, they'd be consumed with despair. We all would. The sky was torn open, demons everywhere. To ordinary folks this is the end times. The only hope they have is you. You're the sign that somebody might hear their prayers, that maybe they're not abandoned after all. The truth doesn't matter."

The Herald frowned into her pint. "This isn't about a greater message. We have an enemy. I just don't see how what people believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a real physical threat. We can't match that with hope alone. This cause of ours is one that protects everyone. We have to stand together and do what is right. We will fight. And we will triumph."

Blackwall pointed at her. "See,  _that_ , right there is why we need you. Divinely touched or not, you're decisions let us heal the sky, your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the Elder One's rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us." Blackwall placed his fist over his heart and lifted his pint in the other hand. "If my future is mine, then I pledge it to the Inquisition. My sword is yours." His lips curved. "And tell that ghost of yours thank you for believing in me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days later and the Inquisitor called her companions to the training grounds located at Skyhold. Sparring each other strengthened them, especially when they fought another companion that was of a class they weren't used to facing one-on-one.

The sun shone high in the clear blue sky above them for the third day in a row. The temperature was much warmer than it had been in weeks, melting all of the snow that had covered the ground. After an hour of sparring one another, a large crowd had gathered at the training grounds, composing of Inquisition soldiers, Circle of Magi mages, refugees, and a few nobles. In a great circle of men and women, Bull and Cole sparred with one another, their blades clanging as they were cheered on by the crowd sitting on the green grass around them.

The Inquisitor, sitting on the ground at the very front of the crowd in between Sera and Varric, watched the match with rapt attention. She studied the movements of the sparring partners. Bull was much stronger and his swings contained devastating might, but Cole moved with inhuman grace and speed. Enemies often underestimated the unassuming rogue, a mistake they rarely lived to make twice. Cole's movements were executed with a refinement, agility, and skill that were nothing short of a master. Truly, it was beautiful to watch.  _He_ was beautiful to watch, and she found herself becoming slightly hypnotized by it.

Bull was nearly a foot taller and twice as broad, while Cole was long and slender. Cole's body was not one of brute strength like the Qunari, but of a powerful lean musculature that was all sharp edges and angles - the ideal body type for an assassin.

Bull feinted then rushed the rogue. Cole spun and then raised his blunted daggers to block a descending blow from Bull's blunted war axe and heat fused Ember's cheeks as Cole's armored cuirass lifted and she saw the tight stretch of his abdominal obliques as they veered down in a sharp V between his jutting hipbones.

"You see something you like, Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor turned her head to find that Varric had been watching her watch Cole. Trying not to look embarrassed or make it seem like what it was - which was ogling the rogue - she smiled and said, "It's violence in its purest form, but it's hard not to see the beauty in it."

"Beauty in the fighting or in the fighters?" Varric questioned with a knowing grin.

"Kick Creepy's arse, you big grey tree!" Sera cheered into her cupped hands beside her.

Varric's gaze slid to the archer sitting on the other side of Ember. "Hey, Sera, how did you get an entire beehive into Cullen's training dummy?"

The archer shrugged, eyes not leaving the match. "I don't know. Can't remember."

Varric laughed. "Wait, do you think it was that magic Cole does? Like he helped you and then made you forget?"

Sera paled. "What? No! Piss, now it's in my head!" The blonde groaned in frustration. "Aghhh… why'd you say that? You ruined a good beehive! Arse!"

The crowd erupted in applause and the Inquisitor's attention returned to the fighters to find that the match was done.

"Inquisitor!" Bull bellowed over the crowd, out of breath. "Get your ass up here. I'm tired of fighting against a damn shadow."

"Fists and dulled daggers only," she stated as she stood in her new armor and moved toward him, limping from an injury she'd suffered during a mission two days ago.

Bull eyed her with a raised black eyebrow over his non-covered eye. "Are you sure you can handle me, boss? Limping the way you are?"

Her lips curved into a smirk. "I think the limp makes us even, Tiny."

The massive Qunari's laugh was explosive. "Damn, I knew there was a reason I liked you, boss!"

Her smirk deepened. "I thought you liked me because of the red hair?"

His eye raked her lustfully. "I want you in my bed because of your red hair."

The Inquisitor snorted at that and began circling around the gigantic Tal-Vashoth, feinting a couple of times. Bull struck out, missing as she evaded, then staggering as the Inquisitor jabbed at his knee with a kick before connecting with a flurry of blows. Bull lunged for her, jabbing his fist toward her face. Taking advantage of his momentum, the Inquisitor blocked the strike by bringing her left arm up and grabbing his wrist as she turned, pulling Bull's arm down to roll him over her hip and flip him to the ground. From there, with control of his wrist and Bull on his side, she jerked the arm back to brace it against her thigh. If she'd wanted to, she could have snapped it. Instead, she pinned him with her knee and feigned a palm thrust toward his face that would have sent Bull's nose straight to the back of his skull, causing serious damage, if it had been real.

"Hey, Kid! Over here!" Varric called with a wave of his hand, causing Cole to jump at the sound of his nickname and turn back to search for the dwarf beneath the brim of his wide hat instead of slipping into the shadows to watch the fight as he'd planned on doing.

Cole shuffled awkwardly on his feet for a second before heading toward the dwarf. The people he passed turned their heads slowly to regard him, frowns in place, sensing something, but unsure. Some sense of self-preservation that signaled him as unnatural and inhuman. They were afraid he'd kill them if they looked at him the wrong way. Cole tried to ignore them as he moved through the crowd to sit beside Varric, taking Ember's seat. The moment he sat cross-legged on the grass beside the dwarf, Sera made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat and immediately moved away from him. But the moment a spot became available beside Cole, Solas took it.

"How go your attempts to ease the pain of those here at Skyhold, Cole?" Solas asked curiously, watching Cole's expression beneath his hat carefully.

Cole's knees bounced up and down while he shrugged. "I made the scullery maid stop crying and one of the boys in the stables is happier. Some of the servants are angry. My help makes work for them. Do you want me to stop?"

Solas shook his head. "No. You exist to help others. You are kindness, compassion, caring. If you stop giving comfort, you would twist into something else, as you did before I suspect." Solas' eyes watched the young man's reaction very carefully.

Cole picked at the grass in front of him uneasily, his shoulders rigid and tense. "I will not be that again. Never again will I be a midnight sky that lost its starlight."

Sera stared at Cole as if he'd gone completely insane. "What the shite are you on about, Creepy?"

"Hey, ease up on the kid," Varric chastised and Sera rolled her eyes.

Cole's head turned toward the dwarf. "Tell me a story, Varric."

"Right now?" Varric ran a hand over his hair. "I don't think we have time, Kid. I think I'm up next."

"Maybe a very short story?"

"Fine. 'When the cards turned, he lost.' How's that?"

Cole frowned. "Did it have to be so sad?"

"How about this…" Varric answered with a wicked gleam in his amber eyes. "Leliana said the people of Skyhold have been whispering about the Inquisitor and a strange young man sitting on the eastern wall—around five in the morning. They also say the same strange young man has been seen circling the Inquisitor's tower at night. What's up with that?"

"I don't know." Cole reached out beside him to pluck a blade of grass and brought it to his lips, chewing on it thoughtfully. "She's… weightier than anyone I've known before."

Varric snorted. "Word of advice, Kid. Don't call the fiery redhead fat."

"No, not that," Cole murmured as he shook his head, blonde hair swaying in front of his eyes beneath his hat. "Her being has a substance that sticks to me, and I'm better for it."

Varric's smile turned soft. "I know, Kid."

Cole had given Varric a condensed description of the events of the past five years, trusting the dwarf's social perceptiveness more than his own. The young man sought the dwarf's counsel daily knowing that his understanding of humanity was like wearing a set of poorly-fitted clothing—but it was clear he trusted Varric to guide him. Varric felt the weight of that trust. He'd earned every ounce of it and bore it with pride, just as he bore the Inquisitor's.

"Is it just me or should the Inquisitor not be sparring a gigantic Qunari mercenary on a broken ankle?" Dorian asked merrily behind them and then laughed, the sound warm and lush. "I wouldn't, if it were me. Wouldn't want to deprive the world of this handsome face."

Cole turned around to face the magister. "Dorian, am I handsome?"

Dorian blinked at him. "Are you what?"

"You say you're handsome all the time. Am I? I can't tell."

Dorian looked the young man over with a critical eye. "Yes, I'd say so. Chiseled face, strong jaw, high cheekbones, blue eyes you could drown in. Although… you might want to rethink the hats." The mage said staring pointedly at the hat currently on top of Cole's head.

Cole sulked. "But I like my hats."

"Yeah, but  _she_  doesn't," Varric chimed in.

Cole touched his hat. "But it helps me hide from the many eyes that land on me and not see through me. I'm not used to it. It makes my skin crawl."

"Come on, Inky! Plug the arsehole already!" Sera cheered beside Solas and they all turned their attention back to the match.

The Inquisitor was all long, lean muscle, slender and strong, with little extra flesh to mar the graceful, feminine lines as she bent and spun away from her sparring partner, her long flowing curls catching the light of the sun, her blue-green eyes sharp with keen intelligence as she formed a plan of attack against the much bigger and stronger Qunari male.

"Watch," Cole whispered to Varric. "See her when you look at her. Few do."

Varric's blonde eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean?"

Cole's head tilted. "Devils live in her nightmares. They drive her to the training grounds every morning."

Bull threw a fist at the Inquisitor's chin, which she deftly blocked. The follow-up blow to her ribs, however, she did not, and it landed with a thud that had the crowd cringing. The Inquisitor recovered quickly and retaliated with a blow to Bull's exposed side. After a few more exchanges of fists, an elbow, and a knee, they were both bloody, bruised, and breathing heavily. Bull rushed her and the Inquisitor delivered a roundhouse kick to his ribs, but Bull caught her injured ankle in his giant hand and tossed her across the training ground like a rag doll. She hit the ground hard and skidded to a stop a few feet away.

Varric winced. "So, Cole, since you're so hell bent on helping people, why don't you step in and do something?"

Blue eyes never left the Inquisitor. "I promised I would protect her. She doesn't need protecting right now."

Varric rubbed his jaw. "I don't know. She's gettin' her ass handed to her."

Cole shifted uncomfortably on the grass. "My eyes hurt to see it. Blood that is hers should never be spilled. But she is strong. She says strength is built on pain, anger, blood, and bruises – layers of black on blue stacked on top of blue on black. Helpless, she can't be again. She needs this. I need what she needs."

Varric raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "So… you're just going to watch?"

Cole nodded once. "Yes. Never want to push her to be something she isn't. She wouldn't shine like she does now."

Varric scratched his cheek. "Shine?"

Icy blue eyes shifted to the dwarf, glittering beneath disheveled flaxen tresses. "You might see it like I do. The light treats her differently than it does others. It gathers around her, reaching out from within. Bright inside, as though she's swallowed a star. It shines through her eyes, glowing out her skin. It's brightest when… oh, you can't miss it now. Look. Look!"

Varric's head turned sharply to the side to find the Inquisitor expertly spinning the blunted dagger in her hand between her nimble fingers. Her other hand lifted, her thumb dragging across her split lip to wipe the blood away, a blazing wildfire burning across her eyes. Bull charged her with a battle cry, horns lowered, and she ran forward, leaping onto the wooden corner post and using it to leap up to the massive Qunari's height and scissored his head between her legs. She flipped the massive grey Qunari over onto his back with a heavy thud that shook the ground. Quick as a flash, Ember straddled him, wild scarlet curls everywhere, her dagger pressed against his jugular, granting her victory.

"Beautiful," Varric heard Cole whisper under his breath beside him almost in reverence.

The Inquisitor stood, and offered her hand to help Bull up. Once he was on his feet, Bull gave her back a hard smack, laughing.

The Inquisitor cringed, as she looked herself over. "Sweet Andraste, I'm bleeding all over the place. And I'm sweating like some sort of farm animal. Maker, I need a strong bath. I stink like a Qunari male who just hit puberty."

"I heard that," Bull grumbled beside her.

Varric snorted, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "Yeah, real beautiful, Kid."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two days later and the Inquisitor was dragging herself into her quarters, dead on her feet with exhaustion from training with Cullen. She was about to throw herself onto her bed and fall straight to sleep when, from the corner of her eye, in a burst of shadows a blurred form of a figure hurtled towards her with inhuman speed. She tensed, half raising her arms in defense, but stopped when she recognized Cole's face.

She eyed him suspiciously. "What is it, Cole? You look like you want to ask me something?"

He pursed his lips together . "I do."

"Okay," she answered slowly, curious yet apprehensive.

"I have a question." He rocked back and forth on his heels. He was grinning at her, appearing almost boyish, and he looked adorable. "But I don't think I'm supposed to ask it."

Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue.

Cole reached into a pocket and pulled out… a terribly familiar book, one she'd begged Varric to finish for Cassandra as a gift. And then, to her horror, Cole held it out to her, and asked, "Does it work like this?"

Her heart dropped into her stomach and her gaze snapped from the lewd cover to Cole's face. "What?"

"This." He pointed to the book with his free hand. "Does it-?"

"How would I know?!" she burst out, her face burning with mortification. "I've never actually read it. And honestly, I don't want to know."

In that moment, Ember seriously thought she'd die of embarrassment. She could  _not_  believe she was actually having this conversation… with  _him of all people_. But, then again, she should've known this was coming because just that morning she'd seen Cole, Varric, and Bull sitting under a tree at the training grounds with that smutty novel open in front of them.

Cole had been sitting in between the dwarf and the Qunari. Varric had been flipping through the dirty book to certain pages and then holding it out for Cole to see while pointing at certain images in the book. Bull had sat on the other side of Cole and had been gesturing animatedly with his hands, as if describing how to do something complicated, like build a masterwork greatsword. Cole had recoiled from the book as if it were a snake trying to bite him, his back connecting with the tree, his head immediately turning away. But Ember had seen how his eyes would occasionally stray back to the book, his ivory cheeks turning a bright pink.

Damn dwarf and that big grey tree!

While her thoughts were a chaotic jumble of discomfort, Cole continued to stare at her, his expression as smooth as fine porcelain. "You said I could ask you about anything. I want to know about this."

Her face was now the color of her hair. The awkwardness was unbearable and she was determined to end this horrible conversation. "I am the last person you should be asking about this. Honestly, if you've read this book, then you probably know more about…  _it_  than me."

His head tilted. "Why?"

Her eyes looked anywhere but at him. "Because I've never… umm… never done, ugh,  _that_."

"Why not?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, flinching slightly when she touched the Chantry sunburst burned there. "Maker, Cole. Please stop asking me questions about this."

His eyes rounded. "But… but you said I could ask you about anything."

When she remained silent for nearly a minute, unable to form words, Cole's shoulders slumped a little, the corners of his mouth turning down in a dejected frown, and the sight of it wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She hated that look. It was like looking at a boy who'd found a stray puppy and she'd just refused to let him keep it. The Inquisitor sighed, her own shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Fine," she groaned, already regretting this, immensely. She took the smutty book from his hands. Frowning, she opened the book to a random page. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She read some of it and her mouth twisted with disbelief. She flipped a few more pages, her brow knitting with a mix of horror and confusion as she tilted her head and stared down at a very dirty drawing. "This  _can't_  be real. This looks… looks…  _painful_ … and frightening and… and..."

Cole's frown deepened. "Does it work like this?"

"No," she answered quickly, almost positive that was the right answer. "Well, at least I don't think so."

"I want to know how it's supposed to work," he murmured, his fingers twitching at his sides, watching her expectantly.

Okay, it was officially time for him to leave. She could think of nothing she wanted more than to escape this horrible awkwardness. Perhaps she could find Solas and somehow convince him to wipe this conversation from her memory.

"Alright, that's enough." Ember snapped the book shut and shoved it into his hands. "Take your dirty book and go."

He took the book, but studied her face. "You're angry. Why?"

She shook her head. "I'm not angry. I'm… I'm embarrassed."

His eyes turned questioning. "Why?"

She sighed. "It's… difficult talking about this kind of stuff. Isn't it hard for you to talk about that kind of stuff with me?"

"No. It's easier because it's you." His head turned sharply to the side and his gaze became distant, as if he were listening to something she couldn't hear. "Solas wants to speak with you."

Before she could answer, he vanished into thin air.

A few minutes later, and Ember was walking into the atrium beneath the library.

"Inquisitor, thank you for visiting," Solas said formally with his hands behind his back. "I assume Cole told you of my need for your counsel?"

"He did. So…" She folded her arms and rested a hip on his desk. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Straight to the point as always, I see," the elf murmured before diving right in. "You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have… impressed me. You honor the past and work to recover what was lost, even if the cost is high. I respect that. As such, I feel it is my responsibility to advice you about Cole and about… the path you are currently treading."

"Okayyy…" she replied awkwardly, apprehensively.

Solas turned and ran a hand along the surface of his desk, as if collecting his thoughts. "Spirits and demons are one in the same, Inquisitor. What makes them different is what interests them. Not all the denizens of the Fade identify with darker emotions like desire, rage, and pride. Some embody the nobler qualities found in humanity: faith, hope, valor, compassion, and justice."

The elf turned to face her. "Cole is a spirit of compassion given human form. When he crossed the Veil to help the real Cole he became confused, as most spirits and demons do when leaving the Fade. He took on the real Cole's physical form and pieces of the real Cole stuck - his fear and hatred of templars, his desperation to live, his memories, and so forth."

Solas began to pace. "Cole's purpose is to help and so he did, albeit in an immoral way, by killing mages that were either going to be killed by the templars or made Tranquil, which most equate with death. Still, the act of murder is not a benevolent act, even if done in the name of mercy. As a result, his purpose was altered, changing his nature to one that was more demonic than benevolent. Luckily something, or someone…" His eyes pointedly met hers. "…was able to guide him back to the path of his true nature."

Ember lowered her head, letting her heavy russet curls hide her face. "But then how is Cole able to stay in this world?"

Solas' eyes brightened, eager to engage in an intellectual conversation on a topic that interested him. "Ah, good question. To live outside the Fade, demons and spirits need a host, something to possess. Cole is unique in that he has possessed nothing and no one. He was somehow able to create his own human form. However, that means Cole must either form connections, or use something else, to remain in this world. It is my belief that Cole used blood in the dungeons of the White Spire as a way to remain connected to this world."

"How is that possible?"

Solas gave her a patronizing look. "Blood is life. Blood is power. There is a reason why mages turn to blood magic, Inquisitor."

She frowned at him. "But Cole doesn't kill anymore?"

The elf raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't he? You have enemies, Inquisitor. I myself have seen Cole destroy many such enemies." Solas' expression turned reflective. "But I think… I don't think blood would be enough anymore. I think there is something else that is being used to allow him to remain in this world."

Her gaze lifted to his face. "Like what?"

His eyes met hers and something she couldn't name lurked in their enigmatic depths. He cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice was carefully devoid of any emotion. "You share a connection with Cole that is beyond my comprehension. It is unlike anything I've ever seen."

Ember looked away from him. She wouldn't deny it. She knew there was a connection between her and Cole that defied logic or explanation. A connection that went beyond skin-deep.

Her eyes slid back to his. "And you're concerned?"

"I will not lie to you, Inquisitor. I am deeply worried about this connection the two of you share."

"Why?"

"Because you are a mage," he replied, as if it were obvious.

Her heart stilled in her chest, panic rolling like a piece of ice down her back. "How do you know that?"

The mysterious elf gave her a look that said he'd known since the moment he met her, maybe even before, and that she should've expected it. "I know many things. But do not worry, Inquisitor, your secret is safe with me. In truth, I think it was wise of you to hide your true nature." His head tilted and he eyed her with interest. "I am fascinated though in this ability you've mastered that allows you to conceal your magic, even from other mages and templars. Intriguing, truly."

She frowned. She would not share Malcolm Hawke's secrets with anyone, so she ignored his comment. "So… you're concerned about our association because I'm a mage and Cole is a spirit?" At his nod, Ember waved her hand dismissively. "I was worried too, but I'm not anymore. Cole won't hurt me. He would never hurt me, or try to possess me. I swear my life on it."

Solas' head lowered, his eyes boring into hers. "I believe you. But it is not Cole's intentions that I'm concerned about, it is the unintentional results of the connection you share that troubles me."

Her brows furrowed. "I don't understand."

His eyes tightened in the corners. "You have heard about the apostate mage called Anders, have you not?"

Ember nodded. "He was the rebel mage who destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, killing the Grand Cleric and several others, starting the mage-templar war."

"Yes. Anders was a companion of the Champion of Kirkwall, as well as the Warden-Commander at Vigil's Keep before that." Solas' expression turned somber. "Did you also know that the Warden-Commander had another companion in Amaranthine - a spirit of justice that was trapped outside the Fade?"

The Inquisitor felt a trickle of something that felt a lot like dread on the back of her neck. "No."

"Anders harbored a deep-sated hatred for the templars, and Justice seethed at the atrocities the templars committed on the mages. But to live outside the Fade, Justice needed a host. In an effort to work together and correct the injustices against mages, Anders took Justice into his soul. But Anders' anger it…  _changed_  Justice. He was no longer a benevolent spirit of justice, but rather a demon of vengeance. Being exposed to so much anger twisted Justice's purpose, altering his nature."

Ominous chills made her heart start to pound. "What are you trying to say, Solas?"

The elf sighed. "I just want you to be aware of the similarities between Anders and Justice, and yourself and Cole. I am concerned that if you and Cole continue with your…  _association_ , as you so called it, it could affect Cole's nature." Solas' eyes stared deep into hers. "Cole's nature has already been altered once due to the real Cole's fear and hatred of templars, as well as his desperation to live. Who's to say Cole's nature couldn't be altered again due to a connection he shares with you?"

If dread was a living thing, it was worming its way up into her throat while fear twisted her insides. Ember heard Solas' words. She understood his warning. She understood the muddied water she and Cole were traveling was dangerous. The path they trekked was reckless, a treacherous slope to something hazardous and unknown. But she didn't want to let it go. She wasn't even sure she could anymore, not when they'd been through so much together. The connection they shared may have started out as just thin pieces of thread hesitantly twisting together, but now it was a bond as strong as steel. How could something that felt so damned right be considered so damned wrong?

Her eyes flickered to lock onto his, resolve hardening them. "I know you mean well, Solas. But don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

His inscrutable expression faltered and the extent of his unease and trepidation was revealed. "I certainly hope so, Inquisitor. For all our sakes."

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Where The Lonely Ones Roam (Piano Version)_  by Digital Daggers.


	13. Blackbird

_The stars stood still_

_The winds did quiet_

_And all animals of earth and air held their breath_

_And all was silent in prayer and thanks_

_\- Chanter Devons by the Lothering Chanter's Board_

_9:35 Dragon_

_Kirkwall Chantry_

_The large wooden door of the Chantry opened_ _and a gangly youth stepped inside, the heavy door closing slowly_ _behind her with a loud creak. Ember pushed the hood of her dark cloak back, revealing fire-red curls. The Chantry was almost empty. There were just a few of the faithful clustered together in the front pews._ _Grand Cleric Elthina_ _was standing in front of them, her hand outstretched, blessing them while she murmured a prayer. The Chantry smelled of incense, dust, and parchment. The silence was heavy, full of softly murmured prayers too low for her to hear._

_Ember shifted uneasily on her feet. Perhaps she should come back in the morning._ _It was late in the city of Kirkwall after all. The shops she'd passed in Hightown to get here had already started closing. But she had reliable information that Sister Nightingale was here, investigating the mage-templar relations on behalf of the Divine._

_She'd just arrived in the city and despite being exhausted and still a little sea sick from the long voyage to get here, she couldn't wait another second to try and find the woman that could give her life purpose. She had to find her. And she was never very good at patience._

_Ember walked warily into the Chantry toward the enormous statue of Andraste that was in the center of the Chantry and nearly reached the ceiling. Her eyes scanned the shadows around her, afraid that something was going to pop out and try to kill her. She was right to be worried. It was her seventeenth birthday after all. Nothing good ever came to her on her birthdays._

_A young mother approached_ _Grand Cleric Elthina_ _and whispered something in her ear._ _Elthina_ _nodded to whatever the young mother had said and then her head lifted and she smiled at Ember. Ember smiled back, timidly, as she approached the_ _Grand Cleric._

" _You look like you're on a mission, child," the old woman said to Ember in a soft and gentle voice._

_Ember whispered, "I'm looking for Sister Nightingale. Is she here?"_

_The older woman shook her head. "I'm afraid Sister Nightingale has already returned to_ _Val_ _Royeaux. Is there something I can help you with?"_

_Ember's shoulders slumped, exhaustion taking its toll and the sense of hopelessness nearly suffocating. "Ugh… no… I… thanks," she mumbled._

_Elthina nodded before excusing herself and following after the young mother, the two whispering among themselves as they disappeared up the stairs to the second floor._

_Ember sighed warily as she stood dead on her feet. She'd gone to the Hawke mansion in Hightown looking to reunite with the woman whose family had saved her as a child, and treated her as one of their own for nearly five years. But Hawke's manservant had informed her that his mistress was currently in Orlais at the Chateau Haine, the home of Duke Prosper on some mission with her companions. He'd asked for her name, but Ember hadn't given it. She didn't plan on staying long and didn't want to add to Hawke's problems. The woman was the Champion of Kirkwall now. Ember wouldn't ask for Hawke's help when she was an apostate. She wouldn't put Hawke in that position._

_As Ember turned to leave, she saw a woman in her early thirties sitting in one of the last pews on her knees with her hands clasped together in prayer, but her striking wolf grey eyes were fixed on Ember, her lovely face curtained by long straight black hair. The woman smiled at Ember, a warm and friendly smile that was so utterly genuine and amiable._

_Ember blinked, unaccustomed to such blatant kindness being offered so freely to her. She stood motionless, not sure if she should say "hello" or "Maker, be with you," or what. She opened her mouth to say something to the nice woman, when the woman stood and exited the pew, gesturing with her hand for Ember to follow her._

_Ember looked over both shoulders, but realized the woman was gesturing to her. Ember shrugged and followed after the woman to a little storage room located by the front door._

" _You're looking for_ _Sister Nightingale_ _?" the woman whispered in a voice so soft and gentle, the syllables softly lilting, her pretty grey eyes wide and considerate._

" _Uhh, yeah," Ember whispered back. "Do you know her?"_

_The woman nodded, her eyes looking to the door as if to make sure they weren't being overheard. "_ _Sister Nightingale_ _, she… she helped me, despite the risks. She… she married my husband and me while she was here._ _Sister Nightingale_ _had said she would send a woman from Ferelden to help us. Is that you?"_

_Ember wasn't sure what the right answer was. She needed to find_ _Sister Nightingale, but she had no idea what this woman was talking about._ _"That's, ugh, that's me," she lied._

_"Maker, you're so young. How old are you, child?"_

" _Seven years and ten."_

" _Just a babe." The woman smiled then and it was breathtaking with its sweetness and gratitude. "You have no idea how much I appreciate your helping us. My husband and I… we've been through so much. It's not right that we've had to suffer like this simply because we love each other. Love was the Maker's first child and the most dear to his heart. Just because my husband is a mage of the Circle does not mean that loving him is a sin in the eyes of the Maker."_

_Ember had to force her jaw not to drop open. Maker, this woman was married to a circle mage! Was that even possible? "How were you able to get married?" she blurted out._

" _Sister Nightingale," the woman answered. "She married us in secret with my brother as our only witness. My brother is a templar, you see, and was able to sneak Maddox out for one night so we could get married." The woman bit her lip. "Samson has put himself at risk by helping us. The templars are growing suspicious of him. He can't keep carrying the letters between Maddox and myself, not anymore. I won't let my big brother be punished for our love."_

_Ember could not believe that she'd just stumbled into this hidden and forbidden love between the sister of a templar and a circle mage. But, if Ember played this right, she might be able to get this woman to get her in touch with Sister Nightingale, the woman she'd been searching for. Two long years she'd been searching for Sister Nightingale. She was so close. And this woman could help her. It would require her to risk being caught by templars, the thing she feared most, but she would risk it just this once in order to find Sister Nightingale._

" _I can carry the letters for you," Ember found herself saying. "I'm a rogue. I can move in and out of the Gallows undetected." She deliberately left out the part where she was also a mage. "If… if you could arrange a meeting with Sister Nightingale for me."_

_The woman beamed. "Of course, anything! What's your name, child?"_

" _Ember."_

" _I'm Raven." The lovely woman with the big heart and gentle smile took Ember's smaller hands in hers, tears brimming her wide and innocent grey eyes. "Thank you, Ember. You are truly an angel sent to Maddox and I from Andraste herself."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_9:41 Dragon_

_Exalted Plains_

The golden haze of the hot sun cast a heavy heat upon the Inquisitor and her companions in the glen they were resting in. Ferns and moss and wildflowers grew around them in brilliant profusion, scenting the clear air with a perfume as heady as wine. Towering oaks and pines sheltered them, the secluded hideaway in the foothills of the looming mountains acting as their momentary refuge, a guarded haven that kept them away from the rest of the world. It was a blissful momentary relief from the responsibilities that sometimes felt crushing, the blood that felt like it always kept running, and the enemies that at times seemed endless and undefeatable.

Her companions were spread out in the glen. Under a tree, Solas sat next to Bull playing imaginary chess. Varric wrote while Sera sat on a boulder tying the stems of daisies to her bow. Dorian was collecting Royal Elfroot for crafting while Blackwall was collecting the Silverite that covered the glen. Cassandra was sharpening her sword while Vivienne was trying not to touch anything, running a hand over her dress, complaining about wrinkles.

Ember crossed her legs on the grass beneath a large oak tree covered in fresh green leaves, the long branches keeping her shaded and cool from the hot sun that was beating down hot and heavy.

Ember turned her head to watch Cole standing beside her, studying the ancient oak tree's visible roots where they plunged into the dirt. He pushed a low branch out of the way and slipped inside the reach of the tree. Raindrops showered down from the leaves as the branch snapped back into place. She was distracted by the tiny rivulets of water that dripped from the ends of his messy hair and trickled down the back of his neck before disappearing into his armor.

Cole crouched down to balance on the balls of his feet. "I like trees," he murmured as he ran his hand gently over the thick roots. "Trees don't hurt people."

Ember ran a hand across grass that still had the fresh pale green of early spring growth. She smiled to herself. Then she looked up to find Cole watching her. "I've always loved grass. I would sleep on it every night if I could."

Cole's eyes lowered to watch her hand run across the tops of the blades of grass. "Grass doesn't mind anything. People walk on it, horses eat it, it's always content." A fresh wind whipped across the glen, ruffling his shaggy blonde hair. "Wind is always going someplace. What happens when it gets there?"

Vivienne's haughtily laugh reached them from across the glen. "Apparently, it dons a hat and prattles endlessly."

Ember's gaze snapped to the enchantress who was avoiding the sun and refusing to sit down or touch any part of nature. "Vivienne, if you are to act like a child, then I shall discipline you like one. Next nasty thing that comes out of your mouth, you shall remove one article of clothing."

Vivienne gasped, outraged, but the rest of their party laughed, liking that form of discipline that also happened to be good entertainment.

Dorian came to lean his shoulder negligently against the tree trunk beside Cole and crossed his feet at the ankle. "So, Cole, you have memories, right? The real Cole's memories?"

Cole shrugged. "The ones that stuck. I thought they were mine."

Dorian raised an elegant eyebrow. "And Cole was a young man? A young man with  _needs_. You have memories of that, yes?"

"Yes."

"Aha!" Dorian exclaimed.

"What?"

"Oh, come on! The real Cole must've buttered the southern pony in his day."

Cole blinked. "The real Cole never had a southern pony. He buttered his bread though."

Dorian rolled his eyes as he pushed off the tree.

"So, Creepy," Sera said perched upon her boulder, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Since you're a demon and all that noise, can you die?"

Cole watched his fingers as they picked at the grooved and pitted bark of the oak tree. "I can't return to the Fade."

"Loads of demons eat it in this world. I've seen it, done it a buncha times. Maybe you can, too, yeah?"

Cole's fingers paused. "That… is scary."

"Happy to help!" the archer chirped as she retuned to decorating her bow.

Vivienne's eyes gleamed as they fell upon Cole. "You know, with so many rift marking the world, I am surprised any demons nearby do not fall back through. It would be a simple matter for such misguided creatures to return to their home and leave this confusing world behind. Would that not be easier for everyone involved, my dear?"

Cole gave her a questioning look. "Demons can't hear you. It hurts too much. Nothing here makes sense to them."

Vivienne sighed, irritated.

The Inquisitor stood, brushing the dirt off her armor. "Alright, let's head out."

As a group, they walked across the bright green rolling hills that seemed to stretch out infinitely in front of them into a bright blue sky painted with crisp white clouds. As they neared the cave Ember could hear Varric and Cole behind her.

"Okay, try it again, Kid. You'll get it."

"Knock, knock," Cole said evenly.

"Who's there?"

"Cole."

"Cole who?"

"It's me, Cole. That is my name."

Varric shook his head. "No, no. You're still not getting it. Sorry, Kid."

After a few more steps, Cole spoke, "I think I have it. Let me try again."

Varric chuckled. "Alright, Kid, let's see what you've got."

"Varric, will you remember me tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Will you remember me in an hour?"

"Yes."

"Will you remember me in a minute?"

"Yes."

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"See. You forgot me already."

"Uh… that was… pretty good, Kid."

"Thank you. I tried very hard."

After a while, they were forced to walk in a single file line as they began weaving their way through a narrow path surrounded by tall rocks. Ember had to watch her step as the path was filled with nugs - the pink, hairless creatures that were a strange cross between a piglet and a rabbit.

"We must be getting close to the cave," Dorian stated as he stepped over a rather large one. "Nugs are drawn to cold, dark places."

Cole paused to kneel down and pet a runt. "Nugs are kind. Almost everything is bigger than they, but they're still happy. If you hold out your hand, they will nuzzle it. It's how they call you "friend"."

Vivienne lifted her chin haughtily as she passed him. "Remember, Inquisitor, the harmless-looking ones are always the most dangerous."

Cole looked up at her with big blue eyes. "Nugs aren't dangerous."

"I was not referring to nugs."

"You know, Leliana used to keep one as a pet," Ember said, changing the subject.

"You're joking," Blackwall laughed and a nug started from the loud sound.

Ember chuckled. "I'm not. It was a gift from the Hero of Ferelden when they visited Orzammar. Oh, what was its name again? Schmeples? Schmuples? It's right on the tip of my tongue."

After a few more turns, the Inquisitor held up her hand, signaling for them to stop. In front of her was the cave entrance, a jagged black slit set within two large boulders.

"That's it?" Blackwall asked behind her. "That's where the red templars are dug in?"

Cassandra's lips quirked. "I'm certain Empress Celene would appreciate having them removed from Orlesian lands."

"That's it." Ember removed her daggers, kissing one at a time before re-strapping them to her back. She turned her chin sharply and her neck cracked. She took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's do this."

She took one step toward the cave and Cole's hand caught her wrist before she could take another step.

"Wait," Cole said quietly. "Listen to the song."

Dorian took his staff in his hand. "Do you feel that? My magic-sensing nose is tingling."

"It's thin here," Cole murmured in warning, his grip tightening.

"This is an unnatural place," Solas added. "The Veil is thin, and spirits abound. We must be wary."

Cole's eyes searched the blackness of the entry to the cave. "Spirits were here even without the rifts." His eyes shifted to lock onto hers. "Don't go in."

The Inquisitor pulled her hand from his, the skin around her wrist tingling from where he'd touched her. The mark on her hand brightened with a green glow. "I go in first," she commanded ignoring the pleading look in Cole's eyes. The Inquisitor looked at the rest. "At my signal Solas, Bull, and Cole follow. Cassandra, you're in charge of the others."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was midnight when Ember entered the empty throne room at Skyhold, helped by Cole. Blood soaked her armor and pants along one side, the red stain bright. The report they'd been given about the cave had been a set up. She'd been ambushed the moment she walked into that cave. She'd unleashed a rift that killed most of them, but there had been so many and she'd been unable to avoid the point of a sword before her companions had rushed in. The Inquisitor grimaced in pain as she struggled to walk, cursing herself for her foolish recklessness.

"Not fast enough," Cole kept muttering to himself under his breath beside her with angry shakes of his head, one of his arms around her waist.

"Stop saying that," she chastised through clenched teeth, grimacing with one hand pressed against the wound on her side, fresh blood seeping out between her fingers.

Cole dropped his forehead to the side of her head and his hair brushed her temple. "You need a healer."

"I'm fine," Ember swore firmly. "It's just a graze."

Cole held the door to her quarters open for her. "Is a hole the same as a graze? I saw a hole."

She shrugged as the door closed behind them. "Graze. Hole. Same difference."

The young man helping her walk up the steps to her room frowned down at her in response. "You need a healer," he repeated with a surprising amount of steel backing his words.

"I don't need a healer," she replied stubbornly as she placed her foot on the next step and Cole pulled her up to it. "I have health potions on my desk."

Out of breath, she paused for just a second and swayed on her feet, blood dripping onto the wooden step she stood on.

"Why don't you know healing magic?" Cole asked sharply with a hint of accusation.

Ember glanced up at him, forcing the swaying to stop. "I've never been able to master it. It takes so much concentration. I prefer to just wave my hands around and send firebolts flying. Destruction is easier."

His face pinched. He didn't like her answer.

They took the last step of the stairs together and stood in her cold, pitch-black bedchamber. A cool breeze touched her fevered skin. Her gaze moved to the balcony doors that were open, letting in the cool breeze and beams of moonlight that were their only source of light.

She frowned. She didn't remember leaving her balcony doors open.

Ember felt his body tense beside her, sensed him peer around the darkened room. She looked up at him. She could just barely make out Cole's body in the faint light the moon provided. Moonlit strands of silvery-blonde locks were hanging into narrowed azurite orbs that glittered in the moonlight under long dark lashes as his gaze roamed sharply about her room, as if seeking hidden menaces.

"What is it?" she whispered, searching his face that was shrouded in shadows.

"It sounds different." His voice was so low it was barely audible. "The song in the stars on the ceiling has changed."

Ember didn't understand. She opened her mouth to question him, but stopped when she heard a sound, a dripping sound. She looked down to see she was standing in a slowly growing pool of her own blood.

Needing health potions, the Inquisitor attempted to take one step forward toward her desk, but before her foot could even touch the wooden floor, Cole squeezed her hip, preventing further movement. His fingers dug into her hipbone, coating them with her blood. She winced at the pain his tight hold caused, but froze at his silent command.

Ember ducked right as something whizzed past her ear and stuck in the wall beside her with a resounding thud. A single dagger was embedded in the wood inches from her face. If she hadn't moved…

Ember didn't see Cole move, but suddenly she was pushed out onto her balcony with a brutal shove.

Heart in her mouth, Ember fell in an inelegant sprawl upon the ground of her balcony, pain shooting out from her wound. "What the hell—" Her shout of outrage died as she looked over her shoulder.

Cole moved in a swirl of black in the moonlight, disappearing and reappearing around the room, tendrils of shadow licking around him as he fought five hooded figures.

Cole's speed was inhuman, his skill unmatched, but despite his abilities their daggers still flashed with deadly intent as they were somehow able to keep up with him, coming at him like a cloud of crows, pecking away at all sides no matter where he materialized.

From her spot on the ground of her balcony, Ember realized she was seriously injured, weaponless, and without mana due to blood loss. But she could still form a rift. She just needed to gain focus. She concentrated hard, trying to gather focus, when suddenly blood sprayed as a dagger caught Cole along his milky-white cheek.

Her eyes bulged and her heart stopped beating in her chest. She'd never seen Cole get hurt before. Not once. She didn't even think he could get hurt. She didn't know what she expected to happen, but when bright red blood appeared on his cheek in the form of a red line from his ear to the corner of his mouth, everything within her solidified to petrified stone. She honestly didn't think he could bleed. A scream bubbled up in her throat when blood spilled out and ran down his cheek, the white velvet of his skin so stark against the bright red color.

Cole's eyes tightened and became terrifying as the black shadows that lingered in his eyes solidified, hardening into blocks of obsidian within their icy blue irises. His expression was dark and fatal, the glare he wore was merciless and slashing, sharp enough to cut bone. Darkness coiled around him, before Cole disappeared in a maelstrom of inky-black shadow.

They didn't see him coming.

They didn't have a chance.

Nobody could evade Death when it came for you.

Cole moved through the shadows as if born to them, bending them to his will, commanding them to appear behind the first hooded figure. There was a flashing of steel and the spraying of blood as his dagger came up into the hooded figure's spine in the nape of the neck, his blade twisting sharply, killing instantly, and then he was swallowed up by shadow.

Cole disappeared and reappeared across the room between two hooded figures. Cole moved fast, so fast, his hands a speeding blur as he slashed his dagger across the second's throat, blood spraying as he spun like a tornado of shadow to cut the arm off of the third right before his dagger became embedded in the third's ribcage.

Cole's body was a blur of black as he spun round, pulling a smaller dagger from his belt, and threw it at the fourth silently creeping up behind him. The point of the dagger was dead-on, sinking into the fourth's left shoulder.

Cole seemed to impossibly appear in front of the fifth out of thin air, and in one deft motion he shoved the point of his dagger up and into the man's chin, going straight through the bottom and the roof of his mouth, more than likely piercing his brain. The hooded figure twitched slightly for a few moments, a slight gurgle of blood in the back of his throat, before going limp, dead. Cole ripped his dagger out and the fifth fell to the ground at Cole's feet, like a sacrifice.

The fourth sent a small dagger flying straight for her. Cole flickered into sight right in front of her in the same second and caught it several inches from his face. Abruptly Cole jerked his hand and threw the dagger back. In a blinding flash of silver, the dagger went flying to land in the fourth's right shoulder, bringing him to his knees. The hooded figure raised a hand and summoned mana, a sphere of power coalescing in his hand. Cole appeared in front of him, crisscrossed his daggers beneath his chin like a pair of scissors pressed against his neck, and in one deft motion the two sharp weapons cut his head off, hood included.

Cole stood over the decapitated figure, his body taut, knuckles white around his blood-soaked blades, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths, fresh blood dripping off the ends. Cole's chin turned slightly and his eyes clashed with hers, shadowed and thunderous.

"The Venatori are dark and hard and cracked and old." She'd never heard his voice so hard before. "They pull the Fade with blood and pain and ancient lying whispers." He pointed with his blood soaked dagger at the headless man at his feet. "These are Venatori, but they are also red inside."

Aghast, Ember stared at the bodies scattered about her room. "Venatori… taking red lyrium? Is that possible?"

"Yes. Venatori. But red inside. Dead and dark and done."

Cole disappeared and then reappeared in front of her, his hands full of health potions. "Drink."

She did. All but one.

"You too," she whispered as she handed him the last health potion. While he drank, she tore her tunic and gently dragged it across his cheek, removing the blood there while the gash on his cheek healed before her eyes. The twisted knots in her stomach loosened as she saw the smooth, unmarred skin of his cheek.

She didn't like seeing him hurt.

"Why were they here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

No longer bleeding out of her side, Cole helped her to her feet. Summoning what little mana she could, with a flick of her wrist a fire ignited in the hearth, casting the room in warmth and light. Ember moved into her room and stopped, paralyzed in horror. Terror spread a sheen of ice over her skin, freezing her limbs. She couldn't move, her eyes fixed upon her bed.

There, in the middle of her bed, was a raven. Soaked in blood, the black bird had been sliced open down the middle, gutted, insides spilling out onto her pristine white sheets.

Heart beating a hard rhythm against her ribs, Ember moved forward on numb legs and reached for the note lying beside the carcass on her bed.

_Soon._

_\- S_

The Inquisitor stood stock-still, white-lipped and shaking, anxiety tightening her gut as she re-read the note.

She now knew why they were here. They were here to deliver her a message. Someone wanted her dead. And she knew who. She knew why. Tonight was just a taste. A warning. A threat. Of that Ember was sure. And she couldn't help but think how she deserved it.

" _I'm Raven." The lovely woman with the big heart and gentle smile took Ember's smaller hands in hers, tears brimming her wide and innocent grey eyes. "Thank you, Ember. You are truly an angel sent to Maddox and I from Andraste herself."_

Ember suddenly had the most unexpected urge to cry. She hated crying. Loathed it. She wasn't going to break down, especially not in front of Cole.

Ember was suddenly very aware of Cole, like a dark imposing shadow in her peripheral vision. She could feel his intense gaze burning into her side profile.

She shoved the note into her pocket, unable to meet his gaze. She knew what he was thinking. He wanted to know why, what this all meant. But she couldn't tell him. He'd be disappointed in her. He'd be ashamed of her. He might even be… disgusted with her. And she couldn't bear to see it.

Ember mechanically moved out of her bedchamber, paying no attention to her surroundings as her mind battled the overwhelming fear, outrage, self-disgust, and guilt that wracked her. Breath was difficult to catch. The metallic scent of blood that hung like a cloud in her room was making her sick. She needed some fresh air. She felt brittle, and brittle could crack.

To her horror, her anger and guilt were manifesting themselves in what was beginning to sound like dry sobs. No, no, there were tears too. Dammit. She blinked her eyes, gritted her teeth as she walked down the stairs. She just had to get out of there. She needed to clear her head and come up with a plan on how to deal with her past, prevent it from interfering with her present. She was not going to let this make her weak or susceptible. She could handle this. She couldn't let this hurt her. No one could hurt her. She always made sure of that. But first, she just had to make it out of her room. She was so close. She just had to make it outside where she could see the stars.

The Inquisitor reached for the doorknob that would lead to the throne room when she heard Cole calling her name, his voice low and smooth, and it seemed to come at her from a great distance.

" _What_?" she asked with a sharp edge as she spun around so fast, she nearly knocked noses with Cole. He edged back until their faces were a few centimeters apart. He was staring at her with those eyes that saw things that other people didn't see. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed—something she avoided strenuously at all times and in all places.

Cole shifted uneasily on his feet, as though he didn't know what to say. Awkwardly he took a step closer, his hands hovering at his sides. "I can't hear it, but I can see it. Inside you're frightened. Fear is trapped inside the walls that protect you. It makes you look different."

A crisis of nerves threatened to make her voice weak. "How do I look?" She was appalled to hear her voice crack.

He gazed at her in mute sympathy. "Breakable."

A silent scream welled up inside her. Biting it down took all the strength she possessed. In that moment, she did the only thing she ever knew to do when backed into a corner. She lashed out.

Her chin lowered, her hands fisted at her sides. "I don't need your concern. I'm fine."

His brows gathered across his nose, and his mouth screwed down tightly in an expression that was oddly fierce on him. "Your pain is my pain. I want to help."

Her lips compressed in a defiant gesture. "Not with this."

"Tell me." He peered at her through his hair. "Holding the truth in won't ease the telling."

"You cannot heal this, Cole. Please let it go," she replied sharply, brooking no argument.

"But… but if I wasn't here you might have been—" His teeth snapped together so hard that she heard them connect.

Her chin lifted sharply. "Do you not think I can defend myself?"

Storm clouds gathered on his face. He stalked forward, his body twitching. "That's not what I… strength lines you, becomes you, but that doesn't mean you aren't worth protecting."

She glared up at his stern, sharp expression. "Either I am fully able to take care of myself, or I am not, and you need to guard me."

He shifted his weight as he stared down at her, and the muscle along his jaw began to twitch. "One or two. A or B. There is a three, just as there is a C, but you don't see at all. Only imply with that look of yours." He sounded cold now. Irritated.

Her eyebrow raised. "More riddles?"

"It isn't a riddle. I can say what I mean without you understanding."

Ember took a step back, her back hitting the door, and took a breath. "Cole, I'd really like to be alone right now."

Some strange emotion passed over his expression before he murmured softly, "I can be alone with you."

Then, she felt the soft touch at the tips of her fingers. Cole, reminding her that he was there for her for whatever it was she was going through. Ember didn't want to think on how warm his support made her feel. Or the fact that she wanted to clutch his hand and not let go. She pulled her hand away and pushed open the door and burst into the throne room.

Cole's eyes tracked her every move, lingering long after she'd disappeared from his sight and the door closed in his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside was bitter cold. A fog was rolling in and carried a light mist and the scent of lightning. All was quiet, save the wind, which rustled the leaves on the trees that surrounded the Inquisitor as she stood in the center of the training grounds with her bow in hand. The midnight sky was so clear, the moon rising over Skyhold, lighting its ancient stones and magnificent lawns. The silver disk of the moon shone so brightly against the ink-black sky that each blade of grass appeared lined in silver-white light.

And somewhere out there, Samson was seeking his revenge for the sister he loved so much.

The grip on her bow was steadfast as she aimed and fired. The arrow soared through the air and sank into the practice dummy across the training grounds. With swift nimble fingers, Ember pulled another arrow from her quiver, aimed, and released. Before the arrow hit the practice dummy, Ember rolled sideways on the ground, sat up on her knees, raised her bow, took aim, and fired. The moment the arrow left her fingers she was already rolling backwards over her shoulder and standing up on her feet, another arrow fired almost immediately after the first two. Ember was panting with the exertion as she watched all three arrows land in the dummy's head, right between the eyes where a helmet wouldn't protect them.

Ember could feel Samson plotting and planning, arranging the most sadistic and vindictive revenge. He would be coming for her, or would try to trap her, in some way that caused the most damage and the most pain. He would also hurt those closest to her, eye for an eye. The certainty of it was like a heavy hand clenching around her throat. But he apparently wanted to toy with her first, let the guilt he knew she harbored fester in her bones, turn to poison in her veins.

Ember's eyes narrowed in concentration. With tremendous speed, she pulled another arrow, released, and hit the dummy again.

Spots danced before her eyes as guilt loomed up and dampened all other emotions. She'd done this to herself. It had been her fault. She'd let it happen, even when she knew it was wrong. It was her fault. All her fault.

She reach back, pulled again, hit again.

" _Carry my letter to her, angel. Carry my heart to her," Maddox whispered to Ember as the mage pressed himself into the bars around his window at the Circle to hand her the letter he'd written for his wife. "Tell my Raven we will be together without these bars between us. I will escape this cage and I will hold her once again in my arms."_

She pulled back. Hit. Pulled. Hit. Then pulled and hit again.

_Large innocent grey eyes turned to her, wide and frightened. Help me, Raven mouthed to Ember as they closed in on her. Grey eyes were begging, pleading for her to help. But Ember didn't. Instead, she took one step backward, and then another. Ember turned her back on the sweet, innocent woman who wore her heart on her sleeve, hearing her screams as she ran away._

Out of arrows, Ember cursed under her breath and lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. She lifted her gaze above the tree line that surrounded the training grounds to regard the moon that looked so alone in the night sky.

Tempestuous rainclouds began to form in the sky above her head - gray slabs that loathed the moonlight, fighting to slay the silvery-white rays that struggled to pierce through them. Lightening lit up the murky sky. As she stared up at the sky, raindrops slipped through the clouds to idly spiral downward in a free fall before splattering across her face and seeping into my deep crimson curls. Ember's eyes closed and the corners of her lips pulled upward into a small, blissful smile as salvos of thunder cracked and rumbled above her, reveling in the suddenness of being caught out unprepared in a rain shower.

She loved the rain. With the rain running down her face she had a feeling of safety and comfort that she'd rarely experienced in her life. People escape the pain of life in various ways. One of hers was rain. The other was fighting.

The air suddenly shifted behind her.

It was  _him_ , she knew without looking.

Ember turned around to find him materializing out of the darkness a few feet away from her.

Ember took a breath and simply let herself look at Cole. In all her years, she'd never seen such a preternatural scene as the hard, stinging rain pattering on his pristine alabaster skin that stood out against the pitch-black sky with the lightning clattering all around him.

Gliding through sheets of rain and swirling billows of fog, he made his way toward her, shadows coalescing over the training grounds behind him, as if following him. Her whole being tightened and throbbed with an awareness of him. All her senses seemed heightened now. He ruled them all.

He stopped right in front of her. The only sound was the rain belting down upon them and the thunder rolling above them as they stared at one another, the sharp crackle of lightning sizzling across the sky.

Cole's eyes flickered back and forth between hers, the night wind blowing through their wet hair and clothes. The weight of his stare was almost unbearably penetrating. Edginess radiated off him, the way she was certain that unease must've been bristling off of her.

"Blackbird cut open, insides open for display. Not a warning, but a promise. A promise to hurt you." It wasn't a question, and her heart squeezed at the rawness of the emotion in his expression and roughing up his voice.

"Yes." Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Cole's eyes flashed in time with a burst of lightning. "This world is confusing. People are confusing. Tangled and webbed with hurt and lies and pain." His voice was low and gritty, liked rusty nails. "I don't understand. I understand very little. Except one thing… harm to you means death to another. This I know. This I understand very well."

Her gaze jerked up to his, the dark promise she found there unsettling her nerves. She knew he was protective of her, but this was... this was darker than that. He was a spirit of compassion and the look in his eyes spoke nothing of compassion. It was...  _troubling_.

"Death won't come to me," she replied simply, trying to reassure him with a rueful smile, rain running into her mouth. "The reaper and myself are too well acquainted. I know how to dodge him."

The lightning blazed again and lit the training grounds with startling brilliance. "You're hurting." His tone was deceptively soft, but she could hear the strain beneath his words. "What do you need?"

"To train." Her eyes flicked away. "To fight."

"Okay."

Her gaze snapped back to his. "I thought we agreed never to spar each other."

"I know," he replied gently, the blue in his eyes melting into two soft puddles of liquid warm navy. "But you need this. I want to help."

Nearly half an hour later, Ember was in the stables, her back pressed against the wooden wall by the entrance door. She was drenched from head to toe, breathing hard, her lungs fighting for breath, her dulled daggers crossed over her chest. She found herself engaged in the hardest sparring match of her life, or fight for that matter. Cole was fast, so fast. Faster than any man, elf, dwarf, or supernatural creature she'd ever gone up against. It was like trying to strike smoke. He was just too fast and too silent. A true assassin.

She would hide. He would find her. They would engage in a relentless physical combat before breaking apart, circling around, and starting over again. It was immediately clear that she needed everything she had just to stay even with him. Cole pushed her to what she thought were her limits and then showed her they weren't, that she could be better, faster, stronger. He also beat her every time, but she'd given up on letting it sting her pride. But she did make him break a sweat, which was a first. She'd never seen him sweat before during a sparring match or a fight.

A shadow fell upon the door to the stables. Her fingers squeezed around the handles of her dulled daggers. She rushed out the door and lashed out with her dulled dagger, hitting only air as Cole materialized in a swirl of shadows behind her in the doorway. She spun around and swung her dagger in an upward cut, and Cole jumped backward into the stables.

Rushing forward, she feinted with a right lung with her dulled dagger. His hand came down fast on her wrist and the dagger fell from her grip. She spun and lashed out with her only remaining dagger and he tore it from her grasp. She pivoted on her foot and landed a kick to the outside of his left thigh. He winced just slightly. Cole recovered faster than she could land another strike, and then he was gone in a puff of smoke.

Dammit!

No time to go after her daggers, she took off at a run, heading to the tight cluster of trees hidden behind the stables. The rain pounded down on her, the bark wet as she pressed her back against a tree trunk, the trees that surrounded her keeping her hidden. She breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. Above her there cracked a bright flash of lightning that was followed closely by a rolling clap of thunder. The Inquisitor breathed in the scent of electricity that filled the air, her pulse slowing.

She suddenly felt him coming for her, though there was no real indication of his presence. Her muscles tensed with readiness. She pushed off the tree and landed a roundhouse kick to his ribs. Cole stumbled, his expression surprised that she'd detected him, just before she caught him with a hard uppercut to the chin. He staggered back, but before she could take satisfaction in it he spun the dulled daggers in his hands and was on her, driving her backward with pure physical strength. Without magic behind her moves it was easy for him to overpower her, and the rain and the wet, slippery ground made struggling difficult. He ducked beneath a fist aimed for his chin and then the shadows that surrounded him swallowed him whole and cloaked him in complete darkness.

A heartbeat later, Cole was behind her. His hand closed around the back of her neck. She twisted and tried to elbow him in the face, but his grip tightened over her pressure point. If she kept struggling she would pass out.

"Emotions control you, make you slower, more predictable," he murmured in her ear from behind.

"I don't like fighting against a shadow," she growled.

She stepped on his instep and lifted his smaller dagger from his belt as she danced away, then leveled the sharp point at his chest. In a lightening-fast move, Cole tore it from her grasp and his hard body slammed into her. They crashed into the tree behind her as Cole pinned her with the strength of his body. She tried to hit him again, but he was expecting it and caught her wrists and pinned them to her sides, his thigh nudged between hers, immobilizing her.

Her head jerked up and his eyes caught her like a sharp blow.

Everything went painfully still— the night, the storm, her heart, her breath.

Lightning flashed bright white-light against the midnight leaden sky while his gaze darted over her face, and the tension in his body shifted to something darker, languid, as both of them realized he held her still. His lids lowered as he looked at her mouth. She could feel her heart beating wildly in every facet of her body. It was beating so hard she could hear it over the thunder and rain.

Another flash of lightning cut across the sky. Thunder followed hard on its heels. Another bolt rent the heavens. It struck the tree beside them. Sparks lit the sky as, in seeming slow motion, the big tree buckled near its roots and toppled over, crashing beside them a few feet away, blasting them with a gush of air and water.

They didn't even notice.

The rain was coming down in sheets, the heavy drops making it hard to keep her eyes open, but she didn't close them. And neither did he.

His eyes dragged away from hers, his head cantering to the side. Cole stayed utterly still, his head bent, his face averted and hidden beneath his hair. She watched his strong throat working on a swallow. Then slowly he straightened and released her. He slowly backed off, creating just enough space between them so that she could move away if she wanted.

She didn't.

The Inquisitor stood on legs that threatened to buckle beneath her as she stared at him, rain falling hard on him, all around him. He stood there, in front of her, the pure essence of compassion wrapped in a shell of sheer male virility and cloaked in pulsing power and darkness. It all called to something deep down inside her.

A strong, uncontrollable, animalistic longing surfaced immediately. Her cheeks roasted red with the heat that was burning through her, darkening her pupils. Her breath came in sharp spurts, her chest rising and falling with every breath she was struggling to find.

Cole was saying something to her, she realized, but she couldn't hear him. She couldn't stop staring at his mouth, wanting to feel it on hers.  _Needing_  to feel it. It was a primal, elemental need that was soul deep. She knew what she wanted. She was being pulled toward it, had been for years.

Beyond conscious thought, responding purely out of physical and emotional need, in one swift movement she launched herself at him. They flew backwards together until his back slammed into the tree behind him, colliding hard with a loud thud as her fingers tangled in his wet hair and she yanked his head down to crash his lips to hers with a forceful urgency.

She immediately felt him turn to unresponsive stone beneath her, his hands rigid and unmoving on her back as she practically assaulted him with her mouth. His lips were wet with rain and she tasted moonlight on her tongue. She felt singed from it, as if a slow-moving wildfire was sweeping across her lips.

Cole remained deathly still, wholly unresponsive, utterly stunned.

Undeterred, her lips molded onto his, her hands running frantically through his dripping wet hair, down his soaked firm sides, over his taut stomach. Her own wild response shocked her, but that didn't stop her from scrambling to reach under his armor to skim her hands over each honed muscle that curved beneath the black leathers. He was so hard and chiseled, as if cut from marble.

Maker, she wanted to touch him everywhere.

Cole's back went ramrod straight as she touched his cold and wet bare skin and he immediately tried to pull back. Ember knotted her fists in his leathers, pulling him hard against her, preventing him from retreating. She fitted her femininity to his complementing masculinity while her tongue slipped between her lips to run along the inside of his bottom lip. Cole responded with a gasp of shock that parted his lips, and she took the opportunity to slant her mouth over his hungrily, her tongue gliding into his mouth to brush against his.

Maker help her, her body was on fire. Was he feeling it too?

Cole's body grew so tight that it felt like steel against her right before he gripped her upper arms and pushed her away from him.

With the rain once again splashing on her face, rationality returned in one swift stroke. Ember blinked her eyes open and found herself staring up at him, hearing the breathless pants sliding past his lips. Cole's eyes were stark with disbelief, his face a taut mask of confusion, his back rigid with tension, each muscle pulled tight. His gaze was delving into hers, searching, trying to understand.

She didn't understand herself. She'd never done this before, knew nothing of what she was doing or what she was feeling.

Slowly, she unclenched her fingers from his armor, her wet red curls sticking to her cheeks. "I'm… I'm sorry… I-I… I don't know what came over me…"

He gazed at her with such confusion in his eyes. "Your tongue…" His voice cut off and then dropped to a ragged whisper. "It was in my mouth."

She sucked in three jagged breaths and drops of rain. "Is that… okay?"

She felt his body go even more rigid and when he spoke, his voice was choked with tension and brimming with emotion. "It burns."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "What burns? Oh, Maker. Was I hurting you?"

"You are a fire." It was a husky whisper that mingled with the sound of the rain falling all around them. "When you touch me I burn." His eyes came back to meet hers. They were fire-tinged cobalt, spearing through her like hot, sooty coals, so intense she was sure his look could pierce metal. "You consume me, burning away each layer until I'm nothing but the shape you make me."

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked and felt his entire body tense tighter than a bowstring against her as she lifted her hand and laid her palm against his chest. She felt a rush for the heart that beat wildly against her palm, that moved his blood.

Cole's grip on her upper arms became a crushing thing, his breathing rough and urgent.

She moved to take her hand away when a strangled noise gurgled in his throat and he slapped his bigger hand over hers, trapping her there.

"Touch me." It came out as a strangled breath.

"Does it feel good to you?" she whispered thickly. "My touching you?"

His chest lifted on an unsteady breath. "Anything of yours on me is the very best thing I've felt in my existence."

Two tiny freckles graced his right cheek. Her lips touched them, pressing lightly, before her mouth fell to the smooth skin of his throat.

She heard him catch his breath and felt his pulse hammer against her lips and her palm. Her mouth moved slowly before becoming adamant as she kissed down the long column of his pale throat. She felt him shudder, hard. His hands moved to the small of her back, his fingers curling, digging into the muscles there, silently telling her that she was affecting him, though he probably didn't understand why or what it meant.

Needing to taste more of his skin, her mouth pressed harder against his neck, as her hand dragged from his chest to slid under his arm to hook over his shoulder, fingers stretching the collar of his armor as far as it would go, her mouth trailing hungrily over each exposed inch of skin revealed, her tongue tracing the pounding vein in his neck and swallowing the rain that coated his pale skin.

Cole's arms tightened around her like steel bands, and his voice cut through the rain like glass. "What are you doing to me?" His voice was strained and gruff, as if dragged through gravel. "I don't understand what's happening… my blood is pounding, heart beating out my chest, my vision dark, want screaming, need biting, body reacting strangely, hard and hot and-"

"Cole… just shut up and kiss me." She felt her head spinning as she used her hands to grip the sides of his face, holding him still as her mouth returned to his, anxious for the taste of moonlight on her tongue.

Ember's slender arms stole around his neck as she pulled him against her, wanting, needing to be closer. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his slim waist. Cole's hands instinctively caught her under the backs of her thighs so she wouldn't fall.

She could feel the ardor pouring out of her as she ran the tip of her tongue against his lips, parting them, then moving inside his mouth to meet his own. The moment her tongue stroked his, Cole's legs gave out under him and his back slid slowly down the tree until they fell into a puddle on the ground as a messy tangle of arms and legs.

Breaking the kiss, both of her hands tightly gripped his shoulders, and in one swift fluid motion, Ember easily lifted her hips and repositioned herself on his lap so that she was straddling him, her hair falling all around her in wet fiery curls all the way down to her waist. The contact made them both still, the heat that met her made her heart stutter, her fingers flexing on his shoulders.

Her forehead fell to press against his, causing her wild, cherry curls to swing down, the heavy, wet strands like cool silk against his neck, hiding them from view, as if surrounding them in fire.

Cole's breath was harsh, shallow, and fast against her face, his hands tightly gripping her hips. She could feel the hard press of him against her and it caused her own breath to quicken, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was very, very much male. In that moment he was probably more human than he'd ever been before, and that he was undoubtedly feeling  _this -_ this crazy pulsing, thrumming, wildly uninhibited thing between them that had kindled all those years ago.

Her lips formed his name, a breathy whisper that pleaded and beseeched for him to respond to  _this_  with her, despite how confusing and perilous and scary it was.

She brushed her mouth over his lips, her mouth lingering before pressing a little harder, her tongue invading the hot interior of his mouth. Thoughts grew dim. She was tingling, throbbing, aching with something. Gone nearly mindless, she rubbed against him in an attempt to ease the ache. Instantly, ice and heat slammed together in her chest, the friction breathtaking, and their soft gasps harmonized.

She circled his tongue with her own while her hips ground against his. The ache intensified. Grew more insistent. She could feel the muscles of his shoulders straining under her fingers, as he, too, fought the frantic restlessness building inside him. He shook more and more as she kissed him with her lips and her tongue, her body moving against his.

" _Dear heart_." His voice was broken, the words uttered into her mouth.

His body yielded at the same time his lips opened beneath the press of her mouth, and he was suddenly kissing her as fiercely as she was kissing him, mimicking her. Ember's eyes snapped open, shocked at how quickly his demeanor changed. It was as if a match had been struck in a room full of oil, the single flame between them suddenly flaring into a burning blaze.

Cole made a rough, unhinged sound in the back of his throat that vibrated through her frame as his hands sank roughly into her flaming locks, bunching it and fisting the wild curls, clutching her to him, pouring everything he was feeling into her mouth, kissed her hard, brutally, with explosive feeling. Every inch and piece of him, the good and the bad, entered her bloodstream while his lips moved with hard insistence against hers, almost violent in his haste to discover every inch of her mouth.

Her fingers knotted in his shaggy hair, pulled at it, nipped his lower lip, bit at it. He repeated the action and her breath came in a wild gasp, giving her a breathless rush of sensation and loss of equilibrium. His kiss was hungry and desperate and raw, with a poignant edge of tenderness that was so bittersweet it brought tears to her eyes.

There was a reason why they continued to find their way back to each other over a stretch of fifteen years… and this was it. He was  _meant_  to kiss her, just like this, as if he thought her lips were the secret to breathing, to life itself. As if he needed a part of her to exist, to remain in this world, and she could actually feel part of her heart slipping out of her mouth to be immediately consumed by him. The connection between them was so strong, so visceral, it seemed a tangible thing that made everything else fade away.

"Inquisitor!" she heard Cullen call in the distance.

They both stilled at the urgent call of her title, but neither pulled apart from the other. Cole's fingers remained fisted in her hair, panting into her mouth, his entire body shaking just as much as hers. She remained transfixed, listening to the sound of his uneven breathing and the rain, locked in a stasis.

"Inquisitor! Where the hell are you?!" Cullen called again, his voice sounding closer.

Cole's head turned to the side, as if he was listening to something, his gaze distant. When he looked back to her, his expression was sad. "Wolves and hawks mate for life. The wolf is no longer here to howl at the moon. The hawk is in pain. So much pain. A bird without its wings is destined to fall."

"What?" she asked, breathless.

"She needs you," he whispered, and then, in a swirl of shadows, he was gone.

Ember was on her knees, staring down at the puddle Cole had been sitting in. Her fingertips dragged across her lips. She'd had the barest of tastes of a creature from the Fade. And she wanted more. With a sense of foreboding, she couldn't help but wonder if that made her a mage on the path to becoming an abomination.

"Inquisitor?!"

Ember stood and moved out of the tight cluster of trees behind the stables. "What is it?" she asked as she came out from behind the stables.

Cullen was breathing hard. "The Champion of Kirkwall is here… and she's trying to kill Dorian!"

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Latch_   _(Acoustic Version)_ by Sam Smith.


	14. Phylactery

_Maker, my enemies are abundant_

_Many are those who rise up against me_

_But my faith sustains me_

_I shall not fear the legion_

_Should they set themselves against me_

_\- Trials 1:1_

It was four in the morning when the Inquisitor entered the silent and black as pitch tavern at Skyhold. She closed the door softly behind her and fell back against it, the back of her head connecting with a soft thud. Her eyes closed on their own accord. She was utterly exhausted. Her eyes were burning and gritty behind her eyelids. Her body was stiff, cold, and still wet from her sparring match with Cole only hours before. Her stomach was growling something awful. She would murder a cup of tea and a dozen sweet buns right now.

Three hours ago, with Cullen running beside her, Ember had raced across Skyhold to the library to find Dorian sitting on the top of a bookcase with an arcane shield surrounding him. He'd been half naked with only pants on shouting at the Champion of Kirkwall to stop attacking him. The Iron Bull was standing protectively in front of the bookcase, also half naked, preventing Marian Hawke from killing his lover.

And Hawke… Maker… that woman who'd been raging in the library that the Pavus family were friends with someone named Danarius and deserved to die… that woman was not Marian Hawke. She didn't look like Hawke, the woman Ember remembered. This woman's hair was shaved. Her body was so skinny she looked sickly. Three long, angry red scars ran diagonally across her face, as if a creature had slashed its claws across her face. And her eyes… sweet Andraste… her eyes her dead. There was no life. There was only grief. This woman was an empty shell of the Champion of Kirkwall.

Ember had tried to talk to Hawke, but she was crazed beyond all rationality. She'd been spitting mad, demanding Dorian's blood, until she'd finally looked at Ember and fell deathly silent. After some time of staring mutely at her face, Hawke had finally recognized her as the scrawny eight-year-old redhead who'd been taken in by her family in Lothering. Hawke didn't hug her as Ember had thought she would. Instead, she'd just stared at her with those lifeless eyes, saying not a word. Varric had arrived then to take Hawke away to his quarters.

After some time, Varric had returned to them. His eyes were red from crying. When they asked him what had happened to Hawke, Varric had said that a week ago Hawke and her husband Fenris had been hunting Anders. When they found him, he was only Justice - a rampant, bloodthirsty abomination. Hawke and Fenris had fought Anders and killed him, but Fenris had died protecting Hawke. Ember had wanted to speak with Hawke, but Varric had told her no. Ember couldn't even imagine what Hawke was going through. Any words she could offer would be meaningless. She decided to let Varric take care of Hawke.

After that, Ember had spent another hour searching for Cole. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened between them in the tight cluster of trees hidden behind the stables. But she couldn't find him anywhere. She'd searched every inch of Skyhold with no luck. The only place left to search was the Herald's Rest, which was where she was now.

Ember forced herself to push off the tavern door before she fell asleep standing up. She stood straight, squinting into the darkness of the tavern. She moved forward slowly, trying to navigate her way to the stairs in the dark. She ran face first into a wooden beam, she forced herself to hold back the roar of pain that wished to escape her as her hand flew to her now throbbing forehead to rub it gingerly. Growling softly in irritation, she lifted her hand in front of her and drew upon the Fade. She summoned a flame that hovered a few inches above the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the dark room of the tavern.

Ember knew she shouldn't use magic. She was risking her freedom, the one thing she treasured most in this world besides her friends. If anyone were to see her now, she'd be risking it. No one could know she was a mage. She didn't want to – no, couldn't - be tagged and caged like before. She couldn't bear it. If she was ever discovered to be a mage, she could be taken back to the dungeons of the White Spire, if she somehow managed to survive all of this. But she was in no mood to go traipsing in the dark right now.

With the little flame to guide her, the Inquisitor moved sluggishly up the stairs to the third floor of the Herald's Rest. She called Cole's name softly, quietly, into the darkness while she searched the entire third floor. He wasn't there. Her eyes shifted to the stairs that would lead her up to the door that connected to the small room that Cole had claimed as his bedchamber.

Ember bit her lip and stood unmoving for a moment in indecision. She'd never been in Cole's room. Josie had been the one to show him to a bedchamber in the keep, but Cole had refused to sleep there. He wanted to stay in the tavern where he could watch people. He loved watching people. Josie had told her that Cole had taken the room on the third floor of the tavern as his own quarters. She wasn't sure if she should go in his bedchamber without his permission, but she'd searched all of Skyhold without luck. Cole had to be in there though, it was the only place left, and she really wanted to speak with him. She was impatient, she knew, but patience had never been her forte.

Ember walked up the steps and then stood in front of his door for a few seconds, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to come up with something to say to him. With a trembling hand, she opened his door slowly, quietly. With her head swimming and her heartbeat roaring in her ears, Ember silently slipped inside his room, and closed his door behind her with a soft click.

Ember stood in the middle of Cole's room with the flame she'd conjured hovering a few inches over the open palm of her hand. The flame was her only source of light as she scanned his dark room, utterly surprised to find it vacant of any occupants. She was also surprised at the dilapidated state of his room. There were several stones, papers, and broken furniture scattered about the room along with shattered picture frames and iron candlestick holders lying on the ground. Giant cobwebs covered three corners of the room while a small cast-iron stove stood in the last corner beside a small pile of wood. The ceiling wasn't complete, and she could see the stars and the moon through the broken wooden boards in the ceiling, its silvery-white light shining down on his room in beams. His nightstand was an old barrel with candles on it and a leather tome. His bed was brand new, though, and very luxurious. Obviously Josie had purchased the bed and had it moved into his room.

She shifted awkwardly on her feet. She felt self-conscious all of a sudden, although she was alone. It felt weird being in his room, without him in it. She looked around, biting her lip, not sure what to do now. Should she leave? But she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay, stay with the little pieces of him that were scattered about the room amidst the rubble. She decided then that she would wait for him.

Ember slowly walked forward, the flame flickering in her hand, before she used it to light the wick of the candle resting on his nightstand and then extinguished the flame in her palm. The light from the single candle cast a soft glow around her, illuminating her aqua eyes as they scanned his room, not sure what to do with herself now.

After a few minutes, her eye caught something on his windowsill. Curious, Ember leisurely walked towards the window behind his nightstand and stared down at the collection of small-carved statuettes that lined his windowsill. There were sixteen statuettes that had been hand-carved from ironbark and finely painted, just like the necklace that hung around her neck. There was one statuette of her and Cole, as well as each of her companions, her advisors, and what she assumed was Rhys, Evangeline, and Wynne based on the descriptions she'd heard from both Cole and Leliana. Ember couldn't suppress the smile that curved her lips as she peered down at the collection. They were exquisite. The small, hand-carved statuettes were flawlessly carved and painted with intricate details. Cole had taken a lot of time crafting them. They were meaningful to him, she could tell.

With a yawn, the Inquisitor stretched her hands over her head before looking at his unmade bed. Unconsciously, her feet shuffled to his bed. She tentatively stretched out her hand to glide it along the fine cotton sheets. They were deep red in color and incredibly soft. Maker, she was tired. But she couldn't return to her quarters. Her room was littered with five Venatori corpses and a dead raven that was cut open and left on her bed. No, she couldn't return there. Not tonight.

With a groan, Ember sat down on the edge of his bed and her muscles protested the movement. She was till sore from the injury she'd suffered in the cave earlier that day, as well as the sparring match with Cole a few hours ago. A goofy smile bloomed on her face at the memory of what had happened afterward, a memory that refused to leave her mind for even a second.

She'd kissed Cole. Well, it was more like she'd attacked him. With her mouth. And her hands. And her tongue. At the time, she'd had to fight the urge to remove all of his clothes, and then hers, and finally learn why so many people enjoyed what happened when two people were naked. Her cheeks burned. The memory remained, branded in her brain, and with it a lingering ache of longing in her chest that was sharply edged with embarrassment at being so forward with Cole, of all people.

Ember groaned in mortification as she dropped her head into her hands. Why did she do that? Why did she jump him like that? Well, she knew why. If she was honest with herself, she knew she'd been dying to kiss Cole ever since the night he appeared in her bedroom, right after he'd painted the stars on her ceiling. But that didn't mean she should be attacking him like she did. She didn't want to frighten him for Maker's sake.

A thought hit her like a battering ram to the chest. Oh Maker, was that why she couldn't find him? Did she scare him off? Sweet Andraste, was he even here? She'd spent the last hour searching every inch of Skyhold for him and she didn't find him. Did he leave Skyhold?

Her fingers moved to massage her temples, attempting to ease the headache that was forming there. After a few moments, she clasped her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs, and tapped her feet anxiously on his floor as she waited for him to return so she could make sure she didn't ruin everything between them with her reckless behavior and mindless lust.

As her feet tapped restlessly on the floor, her blue-green eyes slid to the large, leather-bound book that was resting on the barrel that acted as his nightstand. From the tattered look of it, he'd obviously read it several times over. Interested, Ember picked it up. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened it to the first page to find it wasn't a book at all. The pages had all been ripped out. Instead, it was being used to hold a large collection of loose, individual pieces of parchment that were stacked within.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the first piece of parchment that contained a charcoal sketch of her sparring with Bull. She turned the page and the next page was another sketch of her. This one was of her gazing out at the sunrise as she sat on the eastern wall. The next page was of her reading reports in the rookery. She flipped through the loose pieces of parchment contained in the book. Some were portraits of her face, some were full figures, but they all had one thing in common - they were all of her.

Ember kept flipping through the pages until she reached the sketches at the end of the pile. These were older, she could tell by the yellowing of the parchment. She paused in her flipping to stare down at a sketch of a much younger version of herself. A sketch of her sleeping in a cell behind metal bars graced the page – all gentle lines and curves. She lightly touched a softly curved arm thrown back, spiky lashes drawn on a cheek, the blanket he'd stolen for her wrapped around her legs.

With a lump clogging her throat and a tightening in her chest, Ember closed the book and put it back on his nightstand. As she did so, her eyes began to droop and she began to yawn every few seconds. Knowing she'd have to wake Josie up to find her a room for the night – and that Josie was most likely sleeping beside a very naked Blackwall, and she didn't want to see any of his naked bits – Ember decided she would just sleep here for the night and have her room cleaned in the morning.

Unable to hold herself upright any longer, Ember stood and went to the small cast-iron stove in the corner of the room and tossed in a few logs, using magic to ignite a fire. Flames leapt to life behind the stove grating, giving off a welcoming warmth. She then removed her rain-soaked boots and socks, then her armor until she remained in nothing but her smalls. She set a chair on its legs in front of the stove and laid her wet clothes on it, hoping to dry them.

The mage then touched a black tunic where it lay folded on his bed. It was soft beneath her fingers. She slipped the shirt over her head and her deep red curls fell to her waist. The shirt was freshly washed, smelling of sandalwood, but it also had the underlying scent of him. She couldn't help herself and breathed in his distinctive scent. It was such a unique blend of fragrances that made him unmistakable, identifiable by smell alone.

She blew out the candle on his nightstand, casting the room in complete darkness. With a yawn, she slipped beneath his sheets, reclining on her back. When she laid her head down on his pillow she found herself staring up at the midnight sky full of stars through the broken boards of his ceiling. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent that reminded her of moonlit walks in the woods that were filled with cinnamon trees. His scent was strongest here. It seemed to permeate from the sheets and rattle her mind. She adjusted, trying to get comfortable, but every little movement she made seemed to ruffle the sheets, causing a fresh onslaught of his staggering scent to assault her senses. With his scent enveloping her like a warm embrace, it felt as if he was actually there with her.

Moving once more beneath his cool sheets, Ember curled up on her side, one hand sliding beneath his pillow. Her fingers touched something cold and metal. Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to touch the item under his pillow, trying to identify it. It was small and round, and could fit in the palm of her hand. Curious now, she sat up and removed the item from beneath his pillow.

She held it up in front of her face, studying it, the moonlight her only source of light. It was a glass vial filled with red liquid that was set within a gold ring that hung from a gold chain. Engraved on the bottom of the gold ring was her name - Ember Laurent.

Her eyes slowly widened as she realized what this was. It was her phylactery. When she'd been captured and taken to the White Spire, the templars had put some of her blood in a glass vial to be used to track her down if she ever escaped. But they never did.

Her vision began to swim as she realized Cole must've retrieved it from the basement of the White Spire, a place that was heavily guarded by templars and protected by magic and wards. Cole must've taken it so that the templars could never track her down. So that she could be free. Even from him. But he'd kept her phylactery, kept it with him for five years.

With tears in her eyes, she replaced her phylactery beneath his pillow and laid her head upon it. Emotions churned inside her. Confusion and joy whipped through her so rapidly that she had trouble even absorbing them. The last emotion, however, that one lingered. The one that scared her the most.

After what had happened earlier, she was afraid to find that friendship alone was no longer an option for them. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She knew she would never be satisfied with anything less than all of him. Not now. Not after she'd had a taste of him, a taste that told her that what she'd felt all those years ago as a girl wasn't simply a figment of her imagination. It was real. And she wanted Cole. She wanted all of him. Nothing less.

But did Cole feel the same? And even if he did, given what they were, was  _everything_  even possible for them? In all honesty, the possibility of a  _them_  felt too fragile to hold her hopes and her dreams, but she found herself doing it inadvertently.

Sleep rose up and Ember closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into a restless night sleep.

Hours later, Ember awakened to morning light filtering in through the broken boards of the ceiling. Cole's scent was all around her, thicker and stronger than before. The maddening scent of him hung potent in the air, pulling at the strings of her heart. She was warm, so warm, with something firm yet soft pressed against her back. A starlight smile spread across her face before she rolled over quickly with unconcealed eagerness to see Cole lying in the bed beside her.

But to her sheer dismay, there was no one there. Her smile slowly faded to a deep frown as she realized it was merely a pillow that was pressed up against her back. Looking around, Ember's eyes took in her surroundings, and more importantly, who was not there. The room was empty, with everything exactly where it had been before she went to sleep the night before. Falling back onto his pillow, Ember covered her face with her hands, her breathing jagged and erratic from feeling so high to suddenly feeling so low, her disappoint so strong it felt like a living thing.

Did Cole come to his room last night, see her in his bed, and run as fast and as far away from her as he could? That wouldn't surprise her, though she hoped he'd just not returned to his room last night from… wherever he was.

With a despondent sigh, the Inquisitor sat up and lit the candle on the barrel that acted as his nightstand with a wave of her fingers, magic sprouting from her fingertips and igniting the wick. She stood and stretched, loosening her aching joints. With a heavy heart, she took off his shirt, folded it, and laid it back on his bed. She put her armor back on that was thankfully dry. Once she was dressed, she gave his room one last look before she left, closing his door softly behind her, wondering where Cole had been last night and where he was now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After taking a much needed bath in Leliana's room and eating a hearty breakfast, Ember went to the eastern wall, but Cole wasn't there. She still hadn't seen Cole since their sparring match and she was starting to grow worried. Where was he? Was he coming back? Did she really scare him off? Frowning, Ember went to Cullen's office for an update. After that, she headed for the library to check on Dorian.

With her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, Ember decided to cut through the atrium, but paused when she heard raised and angry sounding voices coming from within. Curious, she pressed her back against the wall beside the slightly open door that led to the atrium. She peeked around the wall to look into the atrium to find Solas standing with his back to her and Cole pacing the room like a caged tiger. A part of her sighed in relief at the sight of him, thankful he hadn't fled Skyhold, never to be heard from again.

She was surprised to hear Solas' words coming out sharp and brimming with ire and disappointment, "Cole, what you did… do you have any idea how much trouble this can get you in? Or  _her_ in, for that matter?"

Cole didn't stop in his pacing, his body taut. "A message was sent to her in blood and black feathers. I sent one back." Ember's eyes widened at the severity in Cole's voice, at the violence coiled beneath his surface.

"You acted without the Inquisitor's approval," Solas reprimanded before pointing at a piece of parchment on his desk. "If anyone found out about this, they would say you have free rein here. They would say the Inquisitor has no control over her demon companion. And if they ever learned she was a mage, she might be executed or made Tranquil!"

Cole's chin turned sharply toward Solas. His expression shifted between wariness and reassurance. "Cut down, crippled, weakened. He won't come after her now. Not until his power is restored." His lashes lowered, hiding his eyes. "I promised that no one was ever going to hurt her. I had to do something. I had to help!"

"Help?" Solas' voice was as rigid as his posture. "Cole, you said so yourself when you first came to Skyhold that you would not hurt people. You said you would only fight in order to protect those that others wished to harm. I have seen you fight, Cole. You always do so in a compassionate manner, as is your nature. You make the kill quick and painless, attacking only those that choose to harm innocents. But those that attacked you and the Inquisitor last night, you made them suffer."

There was a long and tense pause.

"Yes." Spoken softly, the answer was all the more deadly.

"Why?"

Cole said nothing but continued to pace, or more like prowl as a restless animal would, his hands clenching then unclenching at his sides.

Solas pressed on, "Cole, you know your purpose. Compassion, caring, kindness. It is not in your nature to cause suffering."

Cole spun around to face him. "I am me. I help!"

Solas folded his arms. "And just how did you 'help' last night?"

Cole's voice lowered and sharpened to a fine edge, "She is here. Safe and sound because I've made it so. Will always make it so. Me, and no other. My light to protect.  _Mine_!" There was something in his tone, something hot and hard. Something she'd never heard in his voice before.

"Be careful, Cole," Solas cautioned with grave severity. "Possessiveness is not part of your nature."

Cole scrambled backward as if slapped. "No! Not possession. Never possession. Just… just protecting. Covering, shielding, guarding. She  _must_  live." It was a fierce declaration. "A light that can never be replicated. Were it gone, it would stay gone."

"She's the Inquisitor. You can't expect to protect her from everything and everyone that wants to hurt her."

"I know…" They were quiet, quiet words. "…but I can try."

Solas approached him cautiously. "Cole, you are indulging in feelings you've never before experienced because you have an interest in her. But what you feel for her is perverting you from your purpose. And a spirit becomes a demon when you twist it against its purpose."

"No!" Cole cried in distress, franticly wringing his hands, his eyes looking everywhere but at Solas. "You're wrong! When I feel like I'm underwater, sinking and sinking with no bottom, darkness pulling me under… she is the light that guides me back. Don't you see? I can't… I-I won't let this world be emptied of her… can't… w-won't… survive it…"

Solas' words were curt and clipped. "Possessiveness, desire, and obsession are not compassionate. They are not emotions of a spirit, Cole, but of a demon. You don't want to lose yourself again to-"

"You don't see!" Cole lashed out, pointing an accusing finger at the elf. "You don't see anything! Eyes on the back of your head, fixed upon the past. On those sleeping, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, wanting to awaken-"

"ENOUGH!" Solas' bellow echoed powerfully off the stone walls.

Cole stormed out of the room. After a few moments, Solas followed after him. With her heart hammering in her chest, Ember moved slowly into the atrium and approached Solas' desk. She stared down at the report lying on the surface.

There, in scout Harding's handwriting, was a report for Leliana detailing the dwarf's discovery a few days ago of a hidden red templar base that was located only ten miles away from Skyhold. The dwarf mentioned that the base contained a platoon of red templars that appeared to be sent for the sole purpose of launching a surprise attack on Skyhold. Harding stated that there were Venatori agents located at the base who were taking red lyrium. The report continued to mention how scout Harding had returned to the red templar base this morning for some reconnaissance when she discovered the red templar base had been attacked last night by an unknown force resulting in a grisly slaughter of over fifty red templars, possibly more.

Ember paled. With numb hands, she lifted the paper and read about how scout Harding had returned to the red templar base this morning and discovered several body parts— all that was left— within the red templar base. Scout Harding had known something was wrong the moment she saw the blood seeping out of the base to run in a crimson stream down into the nearby river.

Ember slowly lowered the report to Solas' desk. An entire platoon of red templars slaughtered. So that's where Cole had been last night. Maker, there were so many. How had he done it? She realized she didn't want to know.

These were the same red templars that had attacked them last night, she acknowledged. They were more powerful than the others. And Cole had killed them all… for  _her_. It was staggering. In truth, it frightened her more than a little bit.

Her stomach plummeted. She couldn't deny that committing mass murder wasn't a very compassionate act. Apprehension seeped into her veins, mingling with a sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't want to think that Solas could be right, that maybe her connection with Cole was somehow perverting him from his purpose, and yet… a horrific fear had begun to gnaw at her, a knife-edged sensation akin to panic that coiled tightly into a raw knot in her gut.

No, the Inquisitor thought with a firm shake of her head, as if to toss the thought from her mind entirely. Cole was just protecting her and the people at Skyhold. There was nothing more to it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, the Inquisitor stood at attention in the War Room, her chin up, her shoulders squared with all of her companions and advisors around her. They were meeting with Hawke in order to determine their next steps concerning the Grey Wardens.

Ember had spoken very little so far. She was distracted. Her entire thought was focused on one singular subject. She hadn't gotten a chance to speak with Cole yet and she was anxious for this meeting to end so that they could talk about what had happened between them and what had happened with the red templars.

Ember's palms were sweaty and her pulse was racing, all because she was in the same room with Cole. It was ridiculous, really, just how very much aware of him she was, his presence like a magnet for her undivided attention. Though she could only see him in the periphery of her vision, she could feel his eyes upon her like a caress upon her cheek.

The Inquisitor heard something that caught her attention and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

"Varric, did I hear this right?" she asked the dwarf curtly. "You and Hawke met Corypheus before?"

Varric snorted. "We didn't have tea and crumpets. We were just there when he woke up."

Ember folded her arms, her ire apparent. "And he said, what? 'Hello, I'm one of the magisters who broke into the Black City. Pleased to meet you!'"

"More like…" Varric cleared his throat and deepened it. "'Argh, I'm a darkspawn! Dumat! Dumat!' Then Hawke killed him. And then she made out with Fenris."

Hawke narrowed her eyes on the dwarf. "Varric…"

Varric held up his hands in a placating manner. "What? You did."

The Inquisitor cleared her throat. "With the help of King Alistair and Hawke, we now know that all Grey Wardens have been summoned to Adamant Fortress in Orlais by Warden-Commander Clarel in one desperate attempt to end all Blights forever. However, as we learned from magister Erimond, we know the Grey Wardens are acting under the influence of Corypheus. He is using them to build a demon army. We must stop them. Now."

"So our plan is to… wha'? Storm this big ol' fortress? Like a buncha nutcrackers?" Sera asked incredulously.

Cullen spoke up, "Our Inquisition forces will attack and lay siege to the Adamant Fortress, holding back the demon army while Hawke, King Alistair, the Inquisitor and a small party reach Clarel."

Ember nodded, thinking on that approach. If they were going to attack Adamant Fortress, she didn't want Cole anywhere near that place. She hadn't told him about the Grey Warden mages' ability to kill a Grey Warden warrior and use blood magic to bind them to a demon, thereby transforming the order into a demon army and effectively enslaving the demon-bound Wardens to Corypheus. She'd been too afraid it would frighten him. She'd had Dorian and Solas working on a plan to keep Cole safe from this binding ritual. They came up with a few ideas, but nothing solid enough for her to risk Cole's protection.

Ember's eyes lifted to lock onto the woman whose grief was so palpable she could cut it with a knife. "Are you sure you want to do this, Hawke?"

Hawke's lifeless eyes met hers. "My blood released Corypheus back into this world. It is my duty to remove him from it. Na via lerno Victoria," Hawke stated proudly, quoting her husband. "Only the living know victory."

"I'm with Hawke," the Inquisitor stated with finality. "We leave for the Adamant Fortress in an hour. Dismissed."

The Inquisitor's companions and advisors nodded at her in understanding before filing out of the War Room, until all that remained was Hawke on one side of the War Table and Ember on the other.

After a long pause, Hawke murmured, "How old are you now, Ember?"

"Three and twenty."

"So young," Hawke muttered under her breath. "And now you're the leader of the most powerful army in all of Orlais and Ferelden. You know, for almost a thousand years, the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker. And now many believe you are the agent of his will. So, tell me, are you the herald of Andraste?"

Ember ran a hand over her red curls. "I honestly don't know. All I know is that the sky is torn open and the world is tearing itself apart." She looked down at the Anchor on her hand that was now glowing a soft green light. "Chaos has left its mark upon me. I am hunted for the power I wield."

Hawke gave a single nod of understanding. "Whatever the truth is, that belief gives you power. What do you plan to do with it?"

Ember raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

Hawke gestured with a hand. "Because every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."

The Inquisitor thought on that before answering, "When you reach down into your heart, you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. Me… I feel it is my duty to protect the innocent people caught in this mess." Ember sighed. "All of this happened because of fanatics, and arguments about the next world. It's time we start believing in this one."

Hawke was quiet for a long while. "Then, in the end, you will retain what I did not."

"And what is that?"

Sorrow and remorse darkened the Champion's face. "Your humanity."

Ember pressed a fist over her heart. "It will be an honor to fight beside you, Marian. I owe you my life for saving me as a child. Ask me of anything, and it is yours."

Hawke looked away. She swallowed hard before her eyes returned to her. "Ember…"

"Yes?"

"Take care of Varric," the Champion whispered. "The one that tells the tale is the one who decides history. He tells it wrong, and you have nothing more than a pretty story. He tells it right and you have a legacy. You want a story told right, you ask someone who helped make it happen. And if that someone is Varric, he'll make it awesome. And he'll be by your side every step of the way. A true friend until the very end." There was a little light in Hawke's blue eyes. It wasn't life, but a little flicker of warmth. "Varric is like you," she murmured. "Sometimes family isn't always born. Sometimes it is found."

Hawke bowed slightly before turning and heading for the door. Ember bit her lip. She was afraid to mention Anders' name, knowing he was the one who'd killed Hawke's husband and it probably wasn't a good idea to bring him up considering how unstable Hawke was at the moment, but she had a question she desperately needed answered.

Ember swallowed. "Hawke? What… how did Anders become possessed by Justice? Was it a spell? A ritual?"

Hawke paused at the door, but didn't turn around. "It was an opening."

Ember's eyebrows pulled together. "I… I don't understand."

Hawke turned around to face Ember, her face a stony mask. "Anders was sitting at a tavern in Amaranthine with Justice. They spoke of mages and the injustices they suffered at the hands of the templars. Anders mentioned how he wanted to fight back, but was too afraid. Justice said he would help him. And then, just like that…" Hawke snapped her fingers. "…Anders was possessed by Justice." Hawke swallowed. "And Anders' anger changed them both, turning them into something evil and powerful, something that could burn an entire city to the ground and feel nothing for the lives destroyed."

Ember frowned. "But how… how is that possible?"

"Because Justice was a spirit that had somehow found his way outside of the Fade. All it took was for Anders to open his mind, just that little bit."

Ember's heart dropped into her stomach. "So… there was no spell? No ritual? It just… sort of happened?"

Hawke's chin tucked. "As I said, all you need is an opening." Her eyes turned sorrowful. "Anders… he told me what it was like being an abomination once. He said… he said it was like being trapped in your own body, seeing out your eyes, while someone else moves you like a puppet. And you're trying to scream, to move a single muscle, but there's no escape. Until you look down at the blood on your hands…"

Hawke fell into silence and Ember lowered her gaze to stare at the floor. She hadn't thought about what it would be like to be an abomination. But after hearing it from Hawke… Ember could think of nothing worse, other than being made Tranquil. She couldn't bear the thought of being the servant of another's will, unable to think and act for herself.

Ember's eyes lifted back to Hawke to find the older woman watching her carefully, her deep-set eyes studying her like a hawk. Ember shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"He covets you," Hawke finally said, breaking the silence.

Ember blinked. "What?"

"The thing called Cole," Hawke clarified. "He covets you."

A strangled heat clogged Ember's throat and grew thick in her chest. She willed herself not to fidget. "Why do you say that?"

Hawke gave her a pointed look. "It's obvious with the way he stares at you. His eyes left you not once during the enter meeting."

Ember shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "Cole is a… a precious friend."

Hawke's eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Be careful, Ember," she warned harshly. "Do you know what one does when one covets?"

Something anxious twisted deep in Ember's gut at the other woman's ominous words.

"They yearn to possess," Hawke continued tersely. "That's what demons do. Possess. Do not forget that."

The Champion of Kirkwall turned on her heel and threw the door open.

"Do not make the same mistake Anders did. I have seen more than my share of abominations. It is never worth the cost."

And with that, Hawke was gone.

Ember stared at the door as it slowly closed behind the Champion of Kirkwall. Unease twisted through her insides as she thought on Hawke's words. She'd assumed that possession required a spell or a ritual, especially when that spirit or demon was outside of the Fade. But it appears she'd been wrong. It could happen with just a slight opening of her mind. She didn't realize how easily it could happen. Perhaps it could even happen unintentionally. And that thought frightened her more than anything ever had as her thoughts shifted to her relationship with Cole.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Cole's voice slid out of the shadows behind her. "She doesn't like me."

Ember didn't turn around. Being a spirit medium, she'd known he was there the entire time. Still, she wanted confirmation. "You heard everything?"

"Yes." There was a pause. "She wants to see him again." His voice lowered to a whisper. "She wants to die."

Ember's eyes fell to stare glumly down at the ground. "I know."


	15. Fears and Sacrifices

_Let the blade pass through the flesh_

_Let my blood touch the ground_

_Let my cries touch their hearts_

_Let mine be the last sacrifice_

_\- Andraste 7:12_

The Inquisitor blew into the throne room at Skyhold like a cyclone. The people gathered there gasped at her appearance. Her superior hunter armor was covered in dirt, grim, and blood that was both hers and others. She stormed through the throne room and people jumped out of her way, like those out of the path of a bull.

Ember didn't even notice them.

The Inquisition's attack on the Adamant Fortress had gone awry. Warden-Commander Clarel had been killed by Corypheus' dragon, which had resulted in the bridge they'd been standing on being sundered and Hawke, King Alistair, Ember, Cole, Solas, and Varric plummeting toward the Abyssal Rift – a deep chasm that the fortress stood on that was believed to run as far down as the Deep Roads. Panicking, Ember had used the Anchor to form a rift and they had all fallen into it, allowing them to pass safely into the Fade.

An enormous block of feeling solidified in her chest, weighing heavy as if a boulder had been dropped there as she remembered how Cole had reacted when they'd entered the Fade in physical form.

" _No. No, no, no, no!" Cole cried in anguish, stumbling backward and falling to the ground floor, utterly terrified, nearly crippled by his fear. "This is the Fade, but I'm stuck. I can't… why can't I…?" He made a sound like a whine of pain and gasp of agony as his body curled into itself. "I can't be here. Not like this, not like me!"_

Ember's throat tightened and her eyes pricked with hot tears at the memory. His distress had been so strong it had almost been tangible. It had been heart-wrenching to hear, and she'd tried everything to lessen it for him.

A bubble of helplessness laced with rage burst in her gut and she yanked her helmet off. She gritted her teeth and threw her helmet against the wall of the throne room, startling the crowd and causing them to flee from her.

She ran up the steps to her quarters, but found nothing. She searched the atrium, the library, the eastern wall. Nothing. As she continued to search, her mind became plagued with the memory of the last words Hawke had said to her right before the Champion had sacrificed herself to save them all.

_Hawke's smile was brilliant, her eyes glowing with life again. "Do not worry, Ember. He's waiting for me. Don't cry. I want this. I want to see my Fenris again. Please, don't cry. Heroes don't cry."_

_Hawke tilted Ember's chin up so she could look into her watery eyes. "Like I always say, it is a feat of great strength to be able to walk up to the devil, stare evil right in the eye, and return him to hell." Hawke chuckled. "Let me return this demon beasty to hell."_

_Hawke stepped back from her then. "Go," she ordered. "Go now." Hawke turned on her heel and marched toward the giant demon with her head held high. After a few steps, she looked over her shoulder and called back with a smirk, "Oh, and when you meet your devil, Ember dear, do be sure to stab him in the heart for me, would you?"_

Ember took all the hurt and anger and pain she was now feeling and channeled it exactly where it need to be channeled: at Corypheus. When she met up with her devil again, she would do more than just stab him.

But she couldn't think of that now. Right now she had to find Cole. The moment they'd returned from the Fade he'd disappeared. That was three days ago. She'd had every Inquisition soldier and agent look for him before they were forced to leave the conquered fortress. She'd hoped to see him the moment they'd returned to Skyhold. But she didn't. She was freaking out now, worried out of her mind. She had to find him.

She knew why Cole had disappeared. It was because of what the fear demon had said while they'd been in the Fade. The demon's words had really gotten to Cole, really hurt him, as they were intended too. They had also gotten to her, frightening her even more than she already was, despite her best attempts not to let them get under her skin.

" _There's a monster in your midst, little girl. It hides in your home, lurks in your room, waits under your bed."_

Ember shook her head trying to get the fear demon's words out of her mind, but they returned, relentless, causing dread to trickle down her spine.

" _This monster isn't all tentacles, claws, and teeth. This one is far less obvious. This one hides behind sweet smiles and honest eyes, veiled behind a façade of innocence and kindness. This one doesn't slip through darkness or hide in shadows. It is the darkness. Made of it. Darkness is its very essence."_

" _Are you scared yet, little girl? You should be. Cole is not what you think he is. He is not innocent. He is a killer, a murderer. He is a monster. Envy wanted to wear your face. I want to feed on your fear. But Cole… you should fear what it is he wants from you. Cole wants to possess your mind, body, heart, and soul. He wants to take his dagger and slit you open - from throat to gut - and climb inside of you. Don't believe me? I can see into his mind. He desires one thing, and one thing only from you… but you already know what that is, don't you, little girl? Demons do like their mages, don't they? Such fine puppets they make."_

Ember ran a shaking hand over her red curls as she finished searching all of the rooms in the keep. Cole wasn't in any of them. Dammit! Where the hell was he?

" _Cole will betray you, little girl. Just like all the rest. You'll find a dagger in your back one day, and he'll be the one who put it there."_

Ember ignored the trepidation and fear pulsing at the back of her skull from the fear demon's words and raced out of the keep, heading for the Herald's Rest.

Please be there, she prayed. Please let him be there. Please let him be safe and unharmed. Please let him be okay.

She'd never seen Cole act like he did in the Fade, and now she was going out of her mind, so unbelievably concerned about him. She'd never been so worried in all her life. She hated that fear demon. Hated it with all her being. She wished she could kill it again for all of the horrible things it said to Cole.

" _She will forget you, Cole."_

" _You think you matter to her, but you don't. How could a mage ever care for a demon?"_

" _She will forget you."_

" _Unlike you, Cole, I know her feelings. I can see into her heart. And do you know what I see? Fear and pain. So much of it she's choking on it. And you put it there. It's all your fault. You bring only death." The fear demon laughed. "Do you remember how she looked at you when you killed that mage? She thinks you're a monster. You are a monster. Just like me. But I can help you forget, Cole. We're so very much alike, you and I."_

" _She will forget you, Cole. It will be like nothing between you ever happened. Like you never existed."_

Ember ignored the comments from those that she passed as she ran up the stairs of the Herald's Rest and burst into Cole's room. The Inquisitor took two steps into his room and her limbs froze and she partially tripped on her suddenly leaden legs. She came to an abrupt halt, her heart dropping like a stone into the pit of her stomach.

She found him there, sitting on the floor, in the dark corner of his room. His head was between his knees and his hands over his head. The light from the single candle on his nightstand flickered this way and that, casting dancing shadows upon his huddled form. His body rocked back and forth and the sight of it caused a wave of pressure to crash from her throat to her gut.

"Demon's words, sharp and cutting, piercing holes in my head." Cole's lowly spoken words cut across the room to her. "Killer, demon, murderer. Monster. Monster. I am a monster…" The words were muttered into his knees while he continued to rock back and forth, and the suffering in his voice pierced her heart.

Ember absently pressed a hand to her chest in a feeble attempt to alleviate the ache there as she stared at the young man she cared so deeply for while he seemed to be shutting down, falling apart, unsure of himself and the world he was in. The despair in him was palpable, transforming her concern into an overwhelming need to do something— _anything_ —to save him from the torment that wracked him. The need to sooth that torment was devastating. And like him, it was her weakness.

Ember approached Cole slowly, cautiously, not wanting to startle him. She knelt beside him on the floor, feeling utterly helpless. Cole's head lifted from between his knees and she felt struck by the sight of those grief-stricken eyes that were rimmed red.

"Fears, terrors, nightmares escape my head. Bolt, bar, lock the doors so they can't get in. Can't let them in. My head… it's splitting at the seams. Ripping, shredding, tearing. I don't know if I can…" His eyes clenched shut and he made a strangled sound. "I'm surrounded by darkness, closing in, pulling me under… I'm… I'm choking on dark."

Those haunted eyes searched hers desperately, revealing the depths of the soul-tearing despair he was feeling, and Ember willed herself not to break down and sob in front of him. She hurt for him in a way she'd never hurt for another human being in her life. She ached for the one who'd done his damnedest to help the innocent people of this world, and bring comfort and healing wherever he went. She ached for the one person who'd done everything in his power to protect her, to keep her safe, to keep her from harm, who now felt like he'd hurt her instead because a fear demon had poisoned his mind with its toxic words.

Doing the only thing she could think of to help him, Ember wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, letting him rest his face in the crook of her neck. She immediately felt his body fall into the sanctuary of her arms. He clutched at her, hugging her to him tightly, his arms gripping her almost painfully. She could feel him trembling, and it pulled at something tender within her heart.

Ember held him to her, stroked his shaggy blonde hair, and pressed light kisses wherever her mouth could reach. Cole gripped her tighter, his touch almost that of a frightened boy, and she instinctively whispered soft, comforting words in his ear. Cole murmured her name as he buried his face in her neck and nestled closer to her.

They sat there, holding on to each other, Cole shivering despite the warmth in the room. But thankfully, after a long time, the awful shaking stopped. She was almost in tears. It hurt her heart to see him in such a vulnerable state.

"Are you alright?" she whispered as her fingers dragged gently through his thick hair, snagging on tangles. "I was so worried about you. I had no idea where you went."

Cole sighed, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin of her throat. "Gentle. You watch me walk into darkness over and over, and you always worry. Thank you."

Ember caressed his temple, smoothing his disheveled hair back from his face. "I know you're hurting. I can see how much pain you're in. And I hate seeing you like this… knowing what that demon's words are doing to you." She lightly kissed the top of his head. "Let me help you."

"You have," he murmured, his voice smooth yet gritty. The blood rushed to her cheeks as he leisurely ran the tip of his nose along the full length of her neck, from her shoulder up to her ear. "Safe and solid, lighter and real. The noise inside is quiet now, darkness controlled. I'm brighter when you hold me."

Cole pulled back away from her neck and slowly opened his eyes into hers. "Why are you on the floor?"

She smiled at him while her fingers played with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. "Because you're on the floor."

She didn't try to stop him when he pulled out of her arms. He averted his gaze for a few seconds, and when his eyes returned to hers, his expression was so raw and wounded that her heart wanted to break at the sight of it.

"Monster, evil, demon." His voice was grating, so rough, eyes so tortured it hurt staring into them. "Is that what I am? Was Nightmare right?"

"No," she replied firmly, without hesitation. "You don't steal the pain like the nightmare demon at Adamant did. It fed on their fears to grow stronger. You help them heal."

His eyes grew stormy. "I am me. This I know. Will I be more one day, if I help enough? Someone you'd want to stand beside, someone you'd be proud of, someone you could…" His mouth snapped shut. "Or am I always this?" Cole managed to get out past his clenched jaw.

"You are always you," she answered softly.

His chin jerked to the side, turning his face away from her, but she could see the vexation on his face. "Why am I me? Why not someone better?"

She laid a hand upon his smooth, velvety-white cheek, returning his gaze to hers. "Cole, you give everything you are to help others. You bring compassion, helpfulness, and kindness to those around you. You are good, Cole. This world is a better place because you are in it."

"But I don't belong in it," he replied softly with an incredible ache of loneliness. "I've never belonged. Born of shadow that's taken shape. Two worlds, always standing with one foot in each. Unclaimed and unwanted."

"You are wanted, Cole." Her eyes filled with tears and when she spoke her voice shook. "I want you. I want you very much."

His slow grin was irresistible. She found herself staring at it, at him, watching the tiniest nuances of the way his nostrils flared on each breath, the shape of his mouth as it curved up in that most enticing manner, the movement of his eyes as they scanned her face with blatant affection, as if her words were the only words he'd ever wanted to hear.

Ember swallowed, hard. She looked down, pulled shaky hands together in her lap, then straightened her shoulders and forced herself to look at him again. She was intent on starting this conversation.

"Cole," she said. It came out abruptly.

"Yes?" He looked at her, startled.

"I just want… I think we should talk about what happened… you know, when we were sparring…" She broke off and dragged in a slow breath. "Do you understand what that meant?"

He looked puzzled as he shook his head, blonde locks swaying in front of his eyes.

Ember rubbed the back of her neck wondering how she was going to get through this. "We're friends, right?" she asked and he nodded, looking a little more ill at ease than before. "And friends care about each other. They enjoy spending time with each other, listening to each other talk. Friends trust each other. They want to make each other happy. They want to protect each other from harm."

There was a pause before Cole said anything.

"I like it that we're friends," he said, like he was waiting for more.

"But sometimes…" Ember paused and gave him a worried look and forced the rest out in a rush. "Sometimes friends can be more than friends. You care for them as you do a friend, but you are also attracted to them."

His head tilted, eyes questioning. "Attracted?"

She nodded. "It's a physical feeling. I guess you could say it's when your body likes another person because your heart races when you see them, it becomes hard to breathe when they are close to you, and when they touch you… you feel sparks." She cleared her throat. "And they… sometimes they share things with each other, like in… like in the book you read," she finished nearly in a whisper, her cheeks so hot they were roasting.

Cole looked at her. "Is that what the hawk had with the wolf?"

"No. That was… different. They were… well… they were soulmates."

"What's that?"

"Someone you share such a deep and profound connection with that you cannot exist without them."

His head tilted. "Which am I to you?"

Ember knew that she cared about Cole, to a frightening degree, and that she was also unbearably attracted to him. But she also knew it came with disturbing consequences. Cole had gotten into her blood, relentlessly pulling her to something that might put them both in danger and lead to utter desolation if they weren't careful. They ran the risk of unintentionally becoming corrupted beyond recognition.

There was just so much about Cole that neither of them knew. Cole didn't know how his power worked exactly. He didn't know how he'd been able to cross the Veil and assume human form. He was still figuring out his ability to appear invisible to people and to make them forget him. He'd often said that there was a darkness in him that he had to control. It was entirely possible that he was unaware of a part of him that was more demonic than spirit, a part that could take over and consume him given the chance. A part that could hurt instead of heal, possess instead of comfort. There were just so many unknowns, so many risks. She needed him to understand how she felt about him, but also the concerns she harbored.

"You're my friend, Cole. But I'm also… attracted to you." Her brow puckered. "When I'm around you it's hard for me not to want to jump you like I did last time." She gave him a rueful smile and watched the way his cheeks pinkened. "You make me want what no one else ever has," she uttered on a wispy catch of breath.

"I understand this." He touched her chin, lifting it so he could see everything in her eyes. The heat of his fingertips seeped into her skin and she thought the very intensity of his gaze would burn through her. "To touch you… and to feel you. Do you know what that means to me?" His voice was tremulous with emotion, his eyes shifting back and forth between hers. "Do you… do you know what it does to me? How… how much I want it?"

Ember's smile fell slowly from her face. She pulled her chin out of his grasp, needing space to get out her next words. "But I'm afraid of what will happen if we keep…" She averted her gaze, letting her hair fall to hide her face from him. "If I were to be with you the way I want to - and the way I think you want to be with me - I'd be completely open to you and… and…" she sighed, biting her lip. "Well, given what Hawke said about Anders and Justice… and given what we are… I'm afraid that something terrible might happen, whether we intend for it to or not."

Cole frowned in a silence that was as much thoughtful as awkward. Then he spoke, his voice rough and cracking, "What does that mean?"

Ember swallowed. "It means I think… I think we should spend some time apart. At least until we have a better understanding of what we're dealing with."

Cole said nothing. The silence that lingered was deafening. She peeked at him through the curtain of scarlet curls to find him staring at her. His expression was shuttered and his features inscrutable.

"Don't you think that would be best?" she asked as imploringly as she could, but she might have been talking to a stone statue for all the emotion Cole showed.

His nostrils flared, the expression on his face shifting towards stubborn refusal. But then he gave an almost imperceptible nod. She stared at him for a second, waiting for something more, but he just worked his jaw back and forth while he stared at her.

Ember nodded then, feeling a weight lift off her even though she still felt awkward about the entire exchange, before standing up and leaving the room.

This path they were traveling was full of jagged edges and unknown peril. She felt like she was navigating dark and stormy waters, and that she was either going to pull them both out or drown with him.

She didn't know which.

All she knew was that if she didn't leave then, she never would.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Ember was unable to sleep. With a huff, she kicked off her covers and rose from her bed in her quarters to take a long bath. She scrubbed until her skin was pink and then dried herself off before donning a long-sleeved tunic made of white cotton before walking out onto her balcony. She leaned her elbows on the railing, her long scarlet curls blowing around her face, wrapping around her slim waist. There was a full moon out, but a passing cloud had blocked the natural light for a minute. A brisk cold wind was starting to pick up and it ruffled through her hair. In the distance, she could hear the lonesome cry of an animal.

Ember sighed heavily, filled with a deep-sated melancholy and nearly unbearable longing for something she was beginning to think could never be hers. Listlessly, her blue-green eyes fell from the stars to carelessly scan over the moon-paled rooftops until they fell upon a lone figure, low in a crouch and stone still on the top of the tower directly across from her that provided the best view of her bedchamber.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly as her chest began to quickly rise and fall as her gaze landed on skin as smooth and white as magnolia petals before moving to the shock of blonde hair that looked silver in the moonlight as it blew gently in the night breeze before falling into artic blue eyes.

She would have known it was him even if she were blind. She could feel him on the air; she could feel the magnetic pull even from this distance. She thrilled to his presence. She would anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. No matter what he was, what he'd done.

Even though his expression was solemn, he was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Cole rose, slowly, the silvery light of the moon casting an otherworldly glow upon his translucent skin. Her pulse quickened and her throat went dry. Ember found herself moving backward into her room, though her eyes never left his. Once she was inside her room, wisps of smoke and shadows marked both his departure from his perch on the tower across from her and his materialization in front of her on her balcony.

Something shifted in the air the moment they locked gazes. His eyes were so open and vulnerable in a way she'd never seen before with a hint of something that looked akin to fear lurking in their depths. They were silent as they regarded each other, the weight of so many things filling the air between them, a near-tangible thing.

"No." His voice was so low it might as well have been the wind coming in through the open balcony doors.

She blinked. Once. Twice. "No? What do you mean no?"

The irises of his eyes glinted like cerulean glass. "You said it would be better to be apart."

A pulse beat hard at the base of her throat as she watched the moonlight play on his features as he glided toward her, in that way that barely displaced air, a velvet shadow in the darkness.

"No." His voice hardened.

Keeping his chin down, Cole looked up at her through his lashes and the emotions swimming in those velvety blues were so strong, they nearly leveled her. "Dangerous. Yes. Very dangerous. Not just for me, but for you. And promises are made, not broken. No harm to you, I promised. No harm to you I will keep." The angles of his face seemed to soften by the glow of the moon. "We will be safe, cautious, careful."

Tension that was statically charged saturated the air around them, denser than morning fog, as though it was about to combust in the space between them. Everything between them over the past fifteen years had condensed and raced toward this fulcrum point. They were standing upon a precipice, where everything would change for good, but not necessarily for the better. They feared - yet were anxious for - the inevitable plummet that would shift all that was into what will be.

Cole took a few steps toward her and she did the same, like two magnets that could do nothing but come together. He stepped into her then, so close she could feel the heat of his body, so close she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eyes. She breathed in his scent of leather, wool, and cinnamon. The combination devastated her senses, left her feeling breathless and disorientated.

Cole cased her face in both of his hands, the rough and calloused pads of his thumbs resting lightly on the apples of her cheeks. Something hot and powerful fired between them as he stared at her –  _into_  her - his face all dark shadows.

"You're all I want," Cole uttered, his voice rusty and low.

Emotion welled in her throat as his thumbs slid slowly along her cheeks to right below her ears. Wild tremors worked along her nerves when his long fingers wrapped possessively around the back of her neck and his thumbs caressed the sensitive skin just below her ears. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.

"You're all I have," he murmured with a break in his voice.

The knot in her stomach swelled, pressing on her lungs. She drew in a sharp breath, struggling for air, tears burning her eyes. All she could see in the world were deep blue pools with flecks of white in them, like the ocean. They were deep as eternity and so piercing she could feel them under her skin, reaching into her. It made her feel needed, like her existence alone was necessary for his survival. Maybe it was.

Those eyes were suddenly falling out of focus and drawing nearer, and she knew logically that it meant that he must've been leaning down to her. Her lips parted slightly to allow for her harsher breathing, her lashes falling softly as her gaze was drawn to his mouth, her body trembling with anticipation. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her as his breath fanned warm against her lips, and by its raggedness she knew he was struggling to breath just as much as she was.

His thumbs slid down her jaw, tilting it up as his cold lips brushed very softly against hers, tentative and unsure, before his mouth settled over hers in a kiss that felt like fire meeting ice.

She may have stopped breathing. She wasn't sure. Cold and heat collided and sparked. Blood boiled beneath the surface of her lips as a thousand volts of energy and the Fade pumped through her bloodstream, lighting her up from the inside out.

Cole's head tilted and his lips brushed softly over hers again. Taking his time, drawing out the moment, savoring. His kiss was slow, burning, deep; as if coaxing her very soul out of her body. His taste touched her tongue - chilled beams of moonlight wrapped in remnants of the Fade. Cool, mysterious, not of this world. Just like him.

His hand ran up the back of her neck to snake into her hair, fisting a handful of curls as he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, leaving a trail of scorched nerve endings in its wake. The hairs on her arms stood on end as a static charge rushed over her skin, making her feel if she was standing in the center of an electrical storm.

His thumb dragged across her cheek to her mouth to force her lips apart so he could slowly, achingly slowly, sink his tongue into the soft velvet of her mouth - seeking, wanting, needing. She was quick to meet him, her tongue sweeping lightly over his own as she arched against him, rolling with a heat that could rival a firestorm.

A strangled groan rumbled in the back of his throat that bordered on pain as he drank from her mouth like a man dying of thirst, parched to his core. Instinctively, her hands gripped his lean shoulders for support, needing him to anchor her when it felt as if she might dissolve into him. He kissed her as if he needed her mouth on his in order to breathe, and she could actually feel him sear his name across her heart just as she was searing her name across his.

When oxygen became a necessity, Cole pulled her bottom lip into his mouth before he pulled away slowly in a torturous draw on the plump flesh as his teeth raked over it. Ember made a small sound of protest as her lips chased after his. He didn't pull back completely though. His lips hovered not even an inch above hers. They held still, panting, breathing one another's air, his hands trembling as they held her face.

Ember opened her eyes slowly. Through the parted, woven threads of her eyelashes, she could see Cole's face less than an inch from hers.  _Want_. It blazed in his not-quite-human eyes. They were rapacious with it, agonizingly so, a starvation.

"I want to be in you." His voice was tortured.

The words hung between them like a concrete block, about to slam to the ground and rattle them to the bones. She fought on her last gasp of air as his ragged breath filtered unsteadily out against her lips. Her heart would burst. It raced too fast, too hard.

"Let me,  _dear heart_." The words were raw and desperate, his gaze pleading, faint lines of pain etched around his mouth. He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against hers. His breath stilled, then was expelled on an anguished groan along with a heart-wrenching, " _Please_."

The night trembled around them. For the first time in her life she wanted a man, truly wanted. But the reality of being taken, of being penetrated, by  _him_  was frightening.

Cole was intense, dangerous, and overwhelming. He was the Ghost of the Spire. He was a murderer. He was also a spirit of compassion. He was her protector. He was her dearest friend. He was also a creature of the Fade while she was a mage. He was everything she couldn't want, and somehow everything she'd ever wanted. But she could no more resist him then she could've repressed the need to breathe. She craved - desperately craved - what only Cole could give her.

This was insanity. No sane mage played with this fire. And yet, here she was, waving her hands around in the flames like a lunatic. But in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. It was impossible to try and fight something when it was beyond you. She was already in so deep she'd drowned in him.

After all of the betrayals and pain she'd suffered at the hands of others throughout her life, Ember never thought she'd ever be able to trust another person enough to share her body or her heart, much less hand them both over completely and irrevocably.

And, Maker help her, that was exactly what she was about to do.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Think_  by Kaleida.


	16. Breathe You

_Never take a spirit into your soul_

_You'll change yourself forever_

_\- Anders_

Cole moved swiftly, pushing Ember up against the wall in her bedchamber. Her back collided against the unyielding wood with a soft thud. Her pulse leapt when his palm pressed against the wall beside her head, trapping her there. Heat flared through her when he shifted his weight from his hand to his elbow, forcing himself closer until their breaths mingled. His free hand grabbed her thigh and lifted her leg to hook around his hip, pinning her to the wall with his body, and the heat she felt turned into an inferno.

Blonde eyebrows drew together, bold slashes across a chiseled face with skin as smooth and pale as marble. "Wait. I did that wrong. Let me try again."

Through the fog of desire that had clouded her mind and gripped her senses, Ember dazedly managed to utter, "W-What?"

Cole stammered quickly, "The Iron Bull said this is how you start." His brow puckered more. "No, wait, I have to do this first."

He let go of her leg and took both of her wrists in one hand and dragged them over her head, pressing them into the wall.

"And then grab you like this."

His free hand lifted to latch onto one breast, and Ember winced at his rough and inexperienced touch.

Cole saw her flinch and he quickly released her, his expression etched with distress. "No, no, no. I messed it up already. I can't seem to get anything right!"

Ember's mouth hung open, her brain hazy. She tried to quell her staccato heartbeat as she watched Cole start to pace in front of her bed, a cheery fire crackling in the hearth behind him, a gentle midnight wind coming in through her open window. By the tension radiating from his shoulders and jaw, and the vexed shine in his eyes, she knew he was really distraught.

He twisted his hands together. "I've already messed up. I don't know how to fix it. Unless…" she heard him mutter to himself as he continued to pace restlessly. "Varric said I need to get a rose and put it between my teeth, tell you that you're pretty, and then drag a piece of ice down your stomach." He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Do you have a rose and some ice?"

Ember was so stunned all she could do was stare at him, openmouthed and with a look of utter and complete astonishment on her face. "I… I don't want any of that," she managed. "I don't want platitudes and meaningless things."

His face fell. "But the Iron Bull and Varric said-"

"I don't want Bull or Varric," she murmured softly. "I want you."

Cole fell silent and Ember stared at the ghostly being in front of her. He was unlike anyone or anything else. Born differently, made differently, a different breed. Preternatural, ethereal, completely and utterly unique. He saw with other eyes, the innervisions of the soul. They were afraid of him. They didn't understand him. They found him strange, odd, creepy even. But he was someone to watch over her, protect her, something no one had ever wanted to do.

Cole was not the cold-blooded killer she'd believed him to be for five long years. But the combination of a mage and a creature from the Fade was never a good one. Even in the best of circumstances, the odds of a positive outcome were depressingly low. But add attraction - an overwhelmingly uncontrollable attraction - and disaster became inescapable.

Cole was a spirit – and a highly sensitive spirit at that - one that was deeply touched and moved by the things around him. This world was strange to him and there was so much about it that he didn't understand.

Solas had once said that spirits didn't work through emotions, they embodied them. How difficult and frightening it must be then for Cole to feel all of these new and confusing emotions that were so powerful they'd been known to cause people to do unspeakable things.

She couldn't help but worry about him. People became vulnerable and at times crazed when it came to sharing their body with someone else. It was visceral, instinctive, and totally consuming. The heart was in it just as much as the body. So how was Cole going to handle this? Would he become overwhelmed? How would he react?

The fire in the hearth gave a loud, sharp snap, pulling her from her thoughts. Ember looked up to find Cole watching her closely.

"This is hard for you," he stated, as if reading her thoughts, those eyes seeing everything, missing nothing.

A red eyebrow rose. "Are you able to sense my feelings?"

"No. I listen but I hear only silence. Your face says a lot."

"To be honest, I never thought this would ever happen for me. It's just so…  _intimate_." She sighed, the back of her head connecting with the wall. "I never thought I'd ever be able to trust someone enough to share so much of myself, not after all of the betrayals and abuse I've suffered." She honestly believed she would be forever carrying her chastity to her death.

"Trust for you isn't easy," he said gently. "Starved, burned, beaten by family and templars. The entire world afraid of what you are, seeing only a viper ready to strike, one that needs to be caged and watched carefully, or will taken away completely. This world has taught you to live alone, and to fear everything and everyone."

"I trust you," she replied sincerely. For all his otherworldliness, she trusted him instinctually.

Cole held her gaze for a long second, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile as his head tilted down ever so slightly. "I know." His voice was soft and breathy. "In your eyes I see trust, but I also see fear. Not of me, but of what may come from this. Warnings from others bounce around inside your head, staring back at me."

Ember didn't deny it. "Let's take this slow," she said. "We'll stop if it doesn't feel right."

He looked at her for an interminable moment before saying, "Teach me what to do."

"I'm not sure myself. I've never done this before," she murmured, sweeping her tongue over her dry lips uncertainly. "Are you… do you know… what to expect?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes." His eyebrows pulled together. "No." He swallowed. "Maybe."

She laughed nervously. "I know the feeling."

The silence that followed was awkward. Ember rubbed her arm timidly while her eyes looked everywhere but at him. Honestly, she didn't know what to expect. Her parents had been too busy beating her to rid her of magic to teach her about this kind of stuff. Leandra Hawke would've told her, except at the time she'd stayed with them Ember had been too young for such talks. And before Cole showed up at Skyhold, she'd never asked because she'd never thought this would ever happen for her.

"What… what do you want me to do?" Cole whispered into the creaking silence.

Ember licked her lips once, twice, and then swallowed. "What are you wanting to do?"

"The book said to-"

"I didn't ask what the book said," she murmured gently. "I asked what  _you_  wanted to do?"

Cole stared down at the ground, deep in thought. After a long pause, his chin lifted and she collided with startlingly intense blue eyes enhanced by spiky black lashes. "I want to smell your hair."

Her heart gave a dislocated stumble as he strode toward her. The blood rushed to her cheeks when his hand reached out to wrap around the hair that framed one side of her face. His crimson fist pressed against his nose and he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. He sighed with an air of contentment and then uttered softly, "My favorite smell."

He crushed her hair to his face, to his nose, to his mouth, and she could hear the faint pull of his nostrils as he breathed her in, holding it deep within, releasing it slowly, with reluctance. "I don't sleep much, but when I do, I dream of it everywhere, wrapped all around me."

The hand in her hair tugged gently to the side, exposing her neck to him. Cole dipped his head until his lips brushed against the soft skin just under the corner of her jaw. Her breath hitched and her breathing became labored as his lips moved along the edge of her jaw, letting his mouth graze her skin, leaving a trail of fire.

"I want to taste your skin." His hot breath fell heavily across her skin, his voice wrapping around her senses like a dark caress. Her head fell to the side limply as his mouth unerringly found the pulse at her throat, and licked it. "You taste like…  _red_."

Cole pulled back slowly to look at her from under hooded lids, his eyes a hundred shades darker than only moments before. "What do  _you_  want to do?"

Ember's knees felt weak, her breathing shallow. She forced herself to hold his intense gaze while he rubbed the curls wrapped around his fist against his cheek. She spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable separately, "I want to feel your skin against mine."

His eyes widened in alarm and he took a quick step back, her hair unwrapping itself from around his hand. "You want them…  _off_?" Cole's voice wavered with trepidation and uncertainty. "But… but Evangeline was mad when I saw her without her clothes on. I was just trying to learn about Rhys. I wasn't there to see her like that." He bit his lip, his voice lowering. "She was very angry with me."

Her lips quirked. "I won't be angry."

A nervous flush came over him, and he looked away from her guiltily. "After Haven… I had to bathe you in the river to remove all the blood, sweat, snow, and dirt. I did my best not to look at you. I turned my head to the side and peeked out of one eye."

"Thank you for taking care of m-"

"But when I was bandaging your side my knuckles accidentally brushed… one of these." He pointed to one of her breasts. "I looked. I couldn't help it. I told my eyes to stop looking, but they wouldn't listen to me. I'm sorry."

She glanced at him coyly through her lashes. "It's alright. I want you to see me. I want to see you too."

Cole stood stiff for a long moment before bending at the waist to remove his boots and his belt. They dropped to the wooden floor with a thud. Ember stepped forward, going to work on his armor with trembling hands. It was strange to help him with the assorted straps and buckles crisscrossing his body, stranger to watch her hands help remove the pieces.

She helped him remove the cuirass over his head and then the black tunic underneath to reveal his bare shoulders, arms, chest, and hard, flat stomach. His body was starkly lean. He needed to eat more, she thought. He was made up of nothing but evident bones and trim, steely muscle lined with smooth, sinewy skin so pale it looked like fresh snow. His pants were loose, hanging low on his narrow hips, and her eyes lingered on his lower abdomen and jutting hipbones.

Her heart hammered away in her chest as she watched those pants fall to the floor, forgotten, and he stood before her in nothing but his skin. Her mouth went dry, her pounding heart roaring in her ears as her eyes fell lower to stare, transfixed, her eyes growing huge. She'd never seen a naked man before. She felt the sensation of heat intensify in her face as she continued to stare without blinking, trying desperately to reduce the heat burning in her cheeks, but knew she was only deluding herself.

Her eyes slowly dragged up his body to his face that was inches from hers, illuminated by the firelight. They were so close, she could've counted his eyelashes, if she'd been clearheaded enough to count anything. His gaze burned into hers, hotter than the fire mere feet away, and all she could think was that he was absolutely, unquestionably the most exquisite thing ever to walk this earth.

"You're beautiful." She didn't even realize she'd spoken out loud until she heard the thready sound of her voice.

His glittered in the firelight. "Can a spirit be beautiful?"

"I don't know if a spirit can, but you are."

Gathering her courage, Ember brought her hands to the bottom of her long tunic she wore for sleeping. She pulled it up, over her thighs and hips, over her waist and chest, until everything was obscured and she knew he was looking at her body. She couldn't see his reaction. But she felt it in the air. Everything went still.

Finally the tunic was free of her head, and as she pulled it away she felt the necklace he'd made for her fall against her bare chest while her long hair tumbled down her back, the red curls swaying from one hip to the other.

She couldn't look at Cole, feeling inexplicably shy, and it unnerved her. No one had ever seen her naked before. She didn't like the insecurity she felt, or the thoughts running through her head – that her breasts were too small, her hips too narrow, her skin too freckly and littered with too many scars and burns. She'd been told multiple times that she had the figure of a boy.

It was natural, she supposed, to be self-conscious in a situation like this, but she willed it away nonetheless. She'd had to develop a thick skin to survive the lonely and harsh life of an apostate and she didn't like this new vulnerability. It was a weakness, and she'd never liked being weak.

Taking a deep breath, Ember forced herself to look at Cole, her chin naturally lifting in an unconscious gesture of defensiveness.

Cole stood there, watching her, not close enough to touch, but close enough to burn her. His intense gaze raked over her body, his eyes wide as they touched on every inch of her muscle toned body, as if he wanted to etch her image into his mind so he could never erase it, even if he wanted to.

She was suddenly no longer embarrassed about standing naked in front of him, not when he looked at her like that. No one had ever looked at her like that – like they thought she was beautiful.

"So much skin," he whispered, sounding in awe as he lifted his hand, but didn't touch her. It hovered close to her skin. "Can I… can I touch you?" He was hopeful. Excited. Smiling.

She nodded, unable to form words. A strange mix of yearning and tenderness filled her, edged sharply by nervousness.

His hand was not quite steady when it lifted to her shoulder to drag slowly down her arm. His fingernails trailed lightly over her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

A puzzled expression crossed his face, as if he was struggling to understand something. "Giants, demons, dragons." The words left him in a gruff whisper.

"What about them?" Was that breathy voice really hers?

"You've killed them all. Many times. I don't see how…"

"What?"

"How something so strong can be this…  _soft_."

"I don't think anyone's ever called me soft before."

He gave her a boyishly impatient look. "Can I… can I touch you more?"

Her chest heaved with the effort to control her breathing. "More?"

"Everywhere."

"Okay."

The next thing Ember knew she was lying on her back on her bed. Cole was stretched out beside her, skin to skin, his fingers tracing every scar that adorned her flesh, slowly and diligently, as if he thought his touch alone could heal each and every one of the old faded scars that were mixed among fresh ones that were peppered all over her body.

Her throat tightened when he turned her onto her side to reach the telltale scars of the lash that streaked her back, scars that indicated her magical and rebellious nature that others had always found in need of violent restraint. It was that cruel pattern that his fingers now traced, touching each and every lash with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes. She shivered when he touched the Chantry sunburst burned into the nape of her neck, tracing with a forefinger, exploring the damaged skin that was tied to something profoundly vulnerable inside of her.

Once he'd touched every scar and burn on her body, he began exploring her. He branded her everywhere he could with heated, gentle hands that were rough with calluses. Such hands were made for brandishing a dagger and vanquishing a foe. Killing hands. But where they touched; she responded. It was elemental, instinctual. The most basic of physical principles, brought to life by his hands.

The first touches were tentative and hesitant, careful, as if he feared she would break. His inexperienced caresses too rough in some places, far too light in others. But that soon changed. He watched her reactions with rapt attention, learning her.

Lying on her back, Cole's hand traced down her breastbone. "Like… like this?"

Her back arched like a bowstring, her pulse skittering wildly while a strange achy feeling coiled low in her belly. "Yeah."

His fingertips skimmed up her side, over her hip, to lightly trace each rib. "Like this?"

Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw fresh air into her oxygen-deprived lungs. "Yeah."

She tried to mirror the action on him, stroking his skin with her fingertips, and noticed his breathing change. Her hand trailed lower and she reveled in the feeling of the muscles of his hard stomach contracting violently beneath her roaming fingers. "Like this?"

Ember felt a trembling along her skin as he dragged his thumb along her bottom lip, pushing her lips apart.

"Yeah," he murmured before covering her mouth, filling her with his moonlight taste that went straight to her head.

She felt the swift, responsive rise of warmth inside her, the raw, coiling tension—and let herself be carried away on it, swept along by a force to strong to resist.

He broke the kiss and her heart was a drum against her ribs as his calloused fingers ran up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her thighs quaked when he touched her heated flesh with just the lightest brush of his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered apologetically against her lips, his voice full of worry. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm-"

"Liked it… very much." The words were a jumbled mess as they tumbled out of her mouth. They were the only words that came to mind.

He looked doubtful for a moment. Then his slick fingers retracted before sliding against her again, into her, probing carefully. "Like this?"

Her hips jerked forward against his hand as she moaned. "Yeah."

She felt hot. All over. When his mouth moved to the column of her throat her breathing disintegrated into urgent pants and she thought she might be in danger of hyperventilating. A fierce burning was starting low in her belly, getting higher and higher.

She urgently ran her hand down his flat stomach before wrapping her hand around him in return. "Like this?"

Cole made a strangled sound and his teeth scraped along the side of her neck. "Yeah."

His knee nudged her legs farther apart. She let them fall open so he could settle fully on top of her, his arms locked on either side of her head. Those eyes looked right… right down into her, seeing beyond where her spirit was and into the very matter that comprised it.

"Is this… okay?" he croaked, nervously searching her eyes as he spoke. "Being in you. Is it okay?"

Ember tried to swallow the terrifying feeling of stepping off a ledge into the great unknown. She'd faced fear before, many times, gut-wrenching fear that most people thankfully never had to face. But this was something else entirely. But she wouldn't let fear get in the way with what she wanted. And what she wanted was him. She wanted him more than she wanted to breathe. Maker help them both, she was going to have him.

"It's okay," she replied. "I want to know you… like this."

Cole continued to watch her, his eyes fretful on her face, her answer doing nothing to smooth the deep crease between his eyebrows. He was afraid, she realized. She could feel it in the way he looked at her. She could hear it in the tone of his voice. She could feel it with every sharp rise and fall of his chest.

"It's okay to be afraid," she heard herself utter softly. "I am too."

"I don't want anything bad to happen. I couldn't… I wouldn't be able to… it's just that to me you are… you're… you're…" His voice trailed off as words failed him. Cole stared down at her helplessly – words unable to form in his mouth. "The words bounce off the edges."

"What are you trying to say?" Ember asked as she ran her hands soothingly through his shaggy blonde hair, down his smooth face and neck, to drag down the strong curvature of his spine.

Cole chewed his lip as he tried to put a difficult thought into words. And then his eyes claimed hers – moist and glistening - and didn't release them. "That you're… you're… like air. You're what I must take into myself to exist. Essential, necessary, death without it." Something soft stroked her cheek. His thumb, brushing over her cheekbone. "I…  _breathe_  you," he whispered with a break in his voice.

Ember felt all her thoughts collide and break apart before sliding down into her chest cavity where her heartbeat was nothing more than his name. "I breathe you, too."

She reached for him and he stiffened as she guided him to her without a moment of hesitation, his eyes on hers like they'd been placed in his skull solely for that purpose as she took him into her body.

Cole stilled immediately within her, and her body naturally wanted to take him in all the way. Her heels climbed to press into the small of his back, pushing him further inside her.

"Don't," he groaned as if he was in agony, a grimace contorting his features. "Too… too much. Not enough. Everything at once."

She paused, her breath sharp, coming in rapid bursts. "Are you okay?"

"I'm liquid," Cole husked, a tremor she'd never heard before threading his voice. "Water in a cup, defined, deafened, hearing only your song."

Her hands ran up his sides and felt the spasms of his muscles beneath her palms. "Do you want to stop?"

He looked down, and she drowned in the dark dilated pupils of his eyes. "Never."

Her heels pressed into the small of his back again, pushing him further inside her, and he sank into her slowly, gradually, claiming her irrevocably as his own.

The breath tore violently from her chest as pain and searing heat raced along every nerve ending in her body. It hurt. She hadn't been prepared for it. Her eyes watered from the pain. She was strong, she could handle this, but she felt as though she was being torn in half from the inside out as he stretched parts of her she didn't know could be stretched.

Cole remained unmoving, completely frozen above her. The hard angles of his face were tense, and so was the rest of his body. "I-I… I can  _feel_  you." She watched a shudder wrack through him and the play of strong emotion on his taut features. "All around me. Surrounding me. Completing me."

Her heart was palpitating, her ribs barely holding back a heart not used to this kind of feeling. The heaviness in her chest grew as she felt the bond between them swell and grow, expand and harden, flow and tighten. She could feel him being pumped into her heart, becoming a part of her. Could feel his soul fuse irreversibly with her own, changing her forever.

Blinking away tears, she looked into his face. One of her hands wrapped around the side of his head, and she pulled him down to her. He lowered to his elbows, cradling her head between his forearms as his forehead fell lightly against hers, blonde strands falling against her face. Her other hand dropped to his back, and she squeezed him, pressing her forehead back against his as luminous blue orbs stared into hers, glittering like falling stars. He was shaking, trembling, quacking. Just as much as she was.

Her voice wavered, "Have you ever felt anything this strong?"

"No." His voice was rough and thick and filled with so much emotion.

They both went utterly still, and for several moments, all they did was stare. They didn't shift or breathe or speak. They remained staring at each other, their gazes locked, time frozen in a moment so sharp, so raw, she could hear his heartbeat, feel the turbulent rhythm echo her own.

But she needed – desperately needed – for him to do something. Anything. She was dying for him to move. She was so unbelievably hot. She needed him to move so badly she hurt from it.

But he didn't. He made no move at all. And he wouldn't, either. This first time, she would have to take control.

"I want to be on top," she said. "All right?"

He nodded and licked his lips.

She sat up and turned him over. She adjusted her legs on either side of him, and her eyes locked with his. Cole made a deep, raw sound as she slowly lowered herself onto him, his eyes never leaving hers, his lips parting as they emitted a broken breath.

"I'm going... to move now," she panted, oxygen hard to catch. It still hurt, terribly, but she was used to pain. She refused to feel it and let it get in the way. "If you don't like it just tell me to stop, okay?"

"What… what do I do?"

"Hold me here."

She put her hands over his and guided them to her. They dragged up her thighs to close tight around her waist. Her eyes held his as she moved her hips awkwardly, hesitant and uncertain, unsure of what to do. The single movement caused her blood to turn molten, scorching through his veins like a wildfire.

He groaned wildly, his body bucking against the hold he kept on her hips. She began to move awkwardly against him and his eyes caressed her face the entire time. He watched her closely, fixedly, studied every shift in her expression, every nuance, taking the measure of her soul.

He watched her make him hers.

She became more certain the longer it went on. And by the time she stopped worrying about if she was doing everything all right, her pelvis was moving very deliberately against his, creating the most mind-shattering friction.

His face contorted with a painful look of ecstasy while his head tilted back, jaw tensed, fingers digging into the flesh enveloping his hips. "This… this is the best thing… I've ever felt."

His words were lost on Ember as her head fell back. She could hardly breathe. Her movements became more instinctive, more desperate. She wasn't in control of her own body any more. Inside, she felt as though she were running, running toward something, but she didn't know what. She felt herself unraveling from the aching fire that had been ignited within her. It was too much, too intense, the sensations too overwhelming, and her lashes lowered with the impact.

"No," Cole ordered, his breathing harsh and ragged. "Eyes open, dear heart. See me and I'll see you."

Her eyes snapped open to find him watching her through heavily lidded eyes that were alive with an emotion that was more intense than want, stronger than hunger, more tender than affection.

"I need to know this is real," he whispered brokenly.

Acting on instinct, her body undulated, and a shockwave rippled through her muscles, making them spasm. There was a forest fire in the marrow of her bones, the sensation so exquisite she lost track of her own name.

He arched off the bed, breathing in a hard, raw rhythm, while heat radiated out of him. "Burning me alive." His eyes flickered and darkened, something subtle and dangerous moving in their smoke-blue depths. "Self and shape derailing, realigning, undone, remade."

Ember couldn't answer. Not when she could barely remember who she was any more. Suddenly, helplessly, her entire body went rigid, and she let out a strangled cry at the brutal rush of feeling, the savage fire that streaked through her, but she was powerless against the fierce sensations that seemed to be tearing her apart and causing every muscle in her body to tighten and shudder violently.

As she came down from her high, she felt herself being lifted and flipped onto her back. Alarmed, her eyelids snapped open to find him grabbing her waist and yanking her to him, her back sliding across the sheets. His hands latched her behind her knees and wrapped her legs around his tapered waist, driving into her so unexpectedly she cried out.

"This can't stop." The syllables rose and fell disjointedly, like he couldn't bear to see it happen. "Never want this to end."

Cole found her hand and leaned over her to press it into the pillow beside her head, his fingers intertwining with hers, every line of his face etched with something raw and vulnerable. "Never let anything take this away from me."

Piercing blue eyes delved into hers as he slid out torturously slow… then slid in the same way. Her fingers tightened on his, a low moan escaping her. He slid into her again and again, deeper into her, as if he couldn't go far enough, as if he was trying to reach for something deep within her.

"Not - close - enough." The words were raw and desperate as he clung to her like he was drowning, as if he'd never let go. "Must - need - closer."

He dropped his head into her neck, his sweat-soaked locks falling against her skin. His rhythm intensified, his breath shallow and rapid in her ear, "…need to be so close you can't breathe without me being a part of you…" The hoarse, rasped words fell heavy against the slick skin of her throat.

Her fingers curled into the rippling muscles of his back, holding on for dear life as he pushed harder and deeper into her until there wasn't any way they could possibly get any closer, until she felt him embedded in her soul. Sweat beading on his brow, between his shoulder blades, and trickled down his stomach. He was pushing, thrusting, living inside her. Gasping, breathless, starved, intense.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end when she felt the vital, dark, dangerous energy that was so much a part of him flow off of him in tingling, power-filled waves. Raw power - straight and uncut from the Fade - crashed against her skin, pricking her conscious, probing at her mind like little fingers. Was he doing it intentionally or unconsciously? She closed her eyes, unable to think about the danger of what he was doing to her, with her.

"…a week from now or a month… I don't want to be the only one who remembers this…" He pulled back slightly to look down at her and his eyes were wild in a way she'd not seen before. The pupils of his eyes were glazed, enlarged, so dark there was only a thin line of blue circling the black that was so deep she could lose herself forever in them. And lurking within that fathomless blackness was something other that peered down at her with absolute  _possession_.

"You  _will_  remember me," he uttered in a tone so hoarse and ravaged it was barely comprehensible. "Will  _make_  you remember me."

His mouth slammed down on hers - hot and needy, hungry and possessive. The unexpected fierceness of it dredged a raw whimper from deep in her throat. He seemed lost to all rational thought as his kiss rose to an uncontrolled frenzy of desperation as he fused them together. She felt his nails scratch down her arms as his mouth turned ravenous, twisting, bruising against hers. Lips ground into teeth that clashed and bit at soft skin. She tasted blood but wasn't sure if it was hers or his. She didn't care. She loved it. Loved it when he was passionate like this, when he kissed her like he was lost in it. The tip of his tongue lightly brushed the little cut his passionate and inexperienced kiss had caused on her bottom lip that gave a little pinprick of pain she hardly noticed.

His mouth, and the warmth and weight of his body, suddenly disappeared. Cold air hit her fevered skin as she suddenly found herself kissing nothing but air. Confused, her eyes flew open and she sat up sharply to find Cole sitting back on his heels at the end of the bed, one hand pressed against his forehead.

Ember immediately came to her senses, the world righting itself, as she stared at him, her chest heaving, aquamarine eyes wide and lips parted, wildly unruly red curls all around her. She was confused. Why was he all the way over there? She hated the distance he put between them just now and she didn't understand it. Did she do something wrong? Was he okay?

"Cole?" Her expression was full of concern and worry, and she was breathless when she spoke. "Is something wrong?"

His hand fell away from his forehead and he shook his head, as if clearing it. As if he was confused and in a daze, he touched his lips and pulled his fingers away to stare at the little bit of blood on his fingertips. He blanched, his eyes saucering, his face twisting into a stricken look of horror and disbelief as he stared at the blood on his fingertips that was not his own. His fear-glassed eyes lifted to fix on the little cut on her lip that he'd caused.

She watched his eyes fall to stare unblinking at her arms with shock and shame and hurt. Her gaze lowered to find red claw marks running down her arms from where his nails had dragged. Her gaze returned to his and she watched Cole look down at his hands in horror and stare at them as though they were alien to his body. His eyes were ice blue and wide, so wide, the whites showing all around his blue irises, as if he'd seen a ghost.

His eyes shifted to the sheets and a pained grimace flashed across his face. She followed his gaze and her eyes widened at the sight of the blood between her thighs and on the sheets. Fear gripped her, her heart pounding hard with confusion, disbelief, and alarm. She wasn't on her monthlies, so why was she bleeding? Was she bleeding internally? Had he hurt her? She didn't feel like she was injured. Maybe this was normal? She honestly didn't know. Was there something wrong with her?

Her eyes lifted to his. Her chest constricted tightly as she watched his face become as dark as thunder, tension vibrating off him in waves. His fingers curled until his nails were digging into his palms, drawing blood, his hands beginning to shake with his barely restrained emotion, his jaw clenched so tight she could hear his teeth grinding together.

"Cole?" Her voice was hesitant, unsure.

At the sound of her voice, his breath left him in a rush, as if he'd been punched in the gut. He grabbed at the sides of his head, his body hunching over, like it was caving in on itself.

"Cole?" she somehow managed to get out past the thick, tight feeling in her throat. "Can you hear me?"

He looked up at her and everything inside of her solidified to stone. Nothing would ever make her forget the way he looked. His expression… it was agonized, ashamed, regretful, horrified… utterly and devastatingly broken. The shame, guilt, and self-loathing she saw… it ravaged her heart, shredded it.

"Cole?!" Panic coated her voice, the edges sharp. "Talk to me," she ordered urgently. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

She reached for him and he recoiled from her hand as though it were a snake. In a flurry of wisps of smoke and shadows, he disappeared from her bed and appeared in the dark corner of her room in front of her stairs by her balcony doors, as far away from her as he could get.

He stood in the dark corner staring at her, his chest heaving, his face in contortions of misery and despair, eyes filled with an unbearable amount of agony, while his hand clawed at his bare chest right above his heart.

"No. No, no, no, no…" he whispered painfully as he turned away from her, pulling his hands through his shaggy blonde hair before pressing his head into the wall, tightly gripping the back of his neck with both hands.

With her heart in her throat, she forced the words out, "Okay, you're really starting to scare me. Tell me what's wrong, Cole. Talk to me!"

His head turned toward her and when his eyes met hers, she felt her heart crack. His eyes were ice blue and shimmering, and in their depths she saw a never-ending storm of pain no living thing was equipped to bear.

"I-I… I  _hurt_  you," he croaked in a voice clogged and hoarse with unimaginable grief, despair, and stark self-loathing.

"It's okay," she quickly assured him, even though she wasn't exactly sure why she was bleeding. "Everything's okay."

A look of such utter agony twisted his features that she feared he was ailing. Horrified at the thought, she shifted to the edge of the bed to go to him, but at the movement his eyes darted around the room like he was looking for an escape.

She froze, a sharp sense of panic lancing through her. Her breathing became erratic as a nameless fear took hold of her, an unease she didn't recognize. "Wait, you're not leaving, are you?" she asked in alarm.

Her heart grew too heavy to hold, because the look on Cole's face said it all. Apology, self-loathing, and regret. That look… it cut her deeper than any blade she'd ever taken. It cut her right down to her very core.

He appeared in front of his clothes that were pilled on the floor. She felt disembodied as she watched him dress with quick, jabbing motions.

Ember's mouth opened and closed ineffectually. She couldn't speak. She tried to react, to move, to stop him. But it was as if her limbs were instantly weighted down with wet cement. She couldn't move. She could feel her blood draining out of her by the nebulous feeling of something great having gone very, very wrong.

Her voice came out thick, "So… you're just going to leave? Just like that? Without talking to me first?" she asked coarsely.

He said nothing as he pulled his tunic on over his head. His expression was inscrutable, his cool detachment significant. He'd been retreating into himself from the moment he'd left the bed.

 _Look at me_ , she thought.

Except he didn't, and his withdrawal made her feel… abandoned. It pained her in a way she hadn't expected. He'd been so open with her before. This closing off, this shutting her out, hurt.

The sinking feeling she suddenly felt was excruciating. Ember sat real still in her bed, holding it all in, holding on as the tears warmed her eyes at the sight. She felt like he'd shut down completely and was slipping away from her, and it left a hollowing ache in her gut.

 _He can't leave_ me, she thought, barely able to see through her anguish.  _Please don't leave me_ , she thought,  _please don't be leaving_.

But he was, and Ember experienced a terrible lowering sense of rejection. Fully dressed, he crossed her room to leave. When he reached her balcony doors she felt desperation settle like a granite block on her insides.

"Please… don't go." She held out her hand in a helpless little gesture of pleading. "Don't leave me. Not now."

He stopped at her balcony doors. He stood stock-still with his back to her. His hands clenched then unclenched at his sides. She heard him exhale sharply before turning to face her with daunting sadness and remorse.

He sucked in a breath and stepped forward, his hand extended in front of him, toward her. In that instant, she felt his otherness as she never had before when she felt a thrum of ancient magic and unfathomable shadow rippling from him, pricking her skin. She gasped because she knew exactly what he was about to do. Disbelief, fear, and anger shot through her, rattling her bones.

"I'll take the hurt away." She saw the roll of his throat as he swallowed before a bright white light glowed from his outstretched hand, and he uttered in a choked voice, "Forge-"

"Don't. You. Dare." Her voice cut through to him like a knife, powerful and fierce. Flames danced across the green fields of her eyes, hardly any blue showing. Her emotions were a tornado of dangerous debris, her breath choked from her lungs. Through gritted teeth, she uttered harshly, "You will  _not_  take this away from me."

The glowing light faded from his outstretched hand. After a long pause, his hand slowly fell to his side, his face falling with it, along with his shoulders. The silence that followed crushed her. He stared at her with blue eyes that were wet and shimmering, and a pained look on his face, as if his world was more torn than hers.

A cloud moved in front of the moon outside, letting him become encased in stealthy shadows, the night embracing him. And then, with a gust of wind, the night took him away from her.

Ember stared long after he'd disappeared from her sight, her mind in turmoil. Her first time and it ended with the guy running away from her in fear.

_Story of her life._

**Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Begin Again_  by Purity Ring.


	17. In The Eyes

_The Old Gods will call to you_

_From their ancient prisons they will sing_

_Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts_

_On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight_

_The first of My children, lost to night_

_-_ _Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse_

The next day, Ember lay in her bed, staring up at the stars on her ceiling, caught in the crossfire of her own thoughts. Sleep had evaded her last night. Her nerves had been too rattled, her mind racing with too many thoughts, questions refusing to leave her alone. And when sleep finally found her, it was  _him_  that she saw. Images of Cole had materialized in her mind's eye, so vivid and clear, along with the memories of them. Memories that had touched willfully and vibrantly on her mind, making her cheeks blush at the lascivious images that played.

In the morning she'd gone to the eastern wall, but Cole hadn't been there. She didn't expect him to be. She'd then found Leliana in the rookery and asked the rogue some vague questions about what happened when people slept together for the first time. Leliana had told her that it was normal for a woman to bleed during her first time. Despite her best efforts to make it appear like she'd just been curious, Leliana had seen through her and knew she was asking because of personal experience. However, Leliana had assumed it was Cullen that she'd been with. Ember didn't correct her assumption. She'd just said it was none of Leliana's business and left.

Relieved, Ember had gone searching for Cole to let him know that he hadn't hurt her and that what had happened last night was normal. It was just a part of it. They just hadn't known. She wanted to talk to him, to explain, but she couldn't find him. After hours of searching it was clear that he didn't want to talk to her. It wasn't her imagination; he was avoiding her.

It was so easy to avoid someone, here at Skyhold, with all the bustling, clattering people, all the comings and goings, all the meetings, all the discussions, all the messages, all the different groups of people concerned about different things and insisting on the greater importance of whatever their subject. But it was nearly impossible to corner someone who could disappear into thin air.

Giving up, Ember had gone to her room, hating the sting of rejection she felt. A cold lump of foreboding had settled into her stomach and she hated the growing weight. And now, here she was, struggling to get the turmoil of her thoughts into some kind of rational order.

She tried to see things through his eyes. Cole must be feeling terribly confused, overwhelmed, and frightened. He was hurting. She didn't have to see him to know. When she thought of how he'd reacted last night, when it played in her mind, it made her feel like she wanted to rant and rail, to smash something. The horrified look on his face wouldn't leave her mind, each snapshot nibbling at her brain, forcing her to endure that painful moment over and over again.

She made her hands fist and dug them into her closed eyes to rid herself of that image. But that look kept playing behind her eyelids, a heartrending reminder of how wretched things had ended. A part of her couldn't believe it had happened, that this wasn't just an awful nightmare.

The loss of him was devastating. It felt like an end. She was not ready for this to be the end. She was pretty damn sure she would never be ready for there to be an end. How was she supposed to survive without this now? Now that she had a taste of it?

Ember groaned. His scent of leather and cinnamon and something entirely  _him_  lingered on her sheets. The heady essence of it was ravaging her sanity. The scent of him still clung to her skin; images clinging to her mind. He'd dug himself a little hole inside of her heart five years ago, and there he continued to live and breath within her - a constant presence.

Ember's heart stopped as she realized quite suddenly that she was tragically, irrevocably, wretchedly in love with him.

She wondered when she'd fallen in love with him, or if she'd ever stopped.

Cole loved her. He might not realize it or understand it, but she was certain of it - just as she was certain that she loved him, too. Once they talked about last night everything would go back to the way it was before. She would find him and force him to talk to her. She was not afraid to ask for what she wanted. She was not afraid to own up to her own desires. She wouldn't let what happened last night drive a wedge between them.

She was suddenly overcome with an unholy need to be closer to him. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in tights and a tunic. She walked quickly down her steps and exited her quarters. She ran a hand over her fire red curls and adjusted the sleeves of her tunic as she walked through the throne room, avoiding the crowds of people there.

Leliana emerged from the door that led to Josie's office. The rogue spotted her and said, "Sweeting, may I have a moment?"

Ember nearly snapped at Leliana to be left alone. But that would be rude. Leliana didn't need to suffer because of her foul mood. Ember took a deep breath. It took a lot to control her temper. "Umm, sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"A report written by scout Harding has gone missing. I suspect foul play. I'm searching all of Skyhold. I know you bring reports to your room, sweeting. Would you mind if I had some of my agents search your room?"

"What? Okay, whatever," Ember uttered impatiently. "I also keep reports in my nightstand. Be sure to search there too."

Josie appeared at Leliana's side. "Inquisitor, Sera says there is trouble in Verchiel. She's asked for an Inquisition presence – a few troops to march through town – to spook the nobles pushing around her people there. I suggest-"

"Whatever you want," Ember answered uncaring as she moved around Josie and Leliana to head for the doors.

Ember took two steps before Cullen crossed her path. "Inquisitor, Vivienne and I would like to speak with you about our plan concerning the Winter Palace. Are you free to meet tonight?"

"Sure, sure," Ember mumbled absentmindedly with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just come to my room after dinner."

Ember got stopped four more times on her way to the Herald's Rest. Once she was in Cole's room, that was unsurprisingly empty, she placed a note on his bed that said simply:  _I need to see you. Meet me in my room tonight. If you don't come to my room tonight, then I won't bring you on the next mission._

That would get him to see her. He refused to miss a mission.

After dinner that night with all of her companions and advisors – less Cole – Ember had changed into her armor and spent some time with Blackwall at the training grounds. Afterward, she'd met Leliana in the rogue's room. Leliana told her that they'd searched Ember's room for the missing report but found nothing. Leliana had also apologized for the mess they'd made. Apparently, Leliana's agents had trashed her room in their search for the missing report.

Ember had bathed in Leliana's room and wore the clothes Leliana had left out for her – black tights, a forest green long-sleeved tunic that reached her thighs, and black leather knee-high boots.

The crowd in the throne room and dwindled to only a few as she approached her quarters with nervous eagerness. She could only hope that Cole was already there. She entered her quarters and walked silently up the stairs to her room. She stepped off the last step and her pulses quickened at the sight of him, her breath catching in her mouth.

Cole was sitting cross-legged on top of her desk that was covered in papers, as if someone had dumped out all of the drawers of her desk on the surface to dig through the contents.

Cole's head was in his hands, his shoulders caved in. He was staring down at a piece of parchment resting in his lap. There was a fire blazing in the hearth beside him, and golden light played over his pale face, highlighting the deep wells of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He looked miserable, a solitary figure in splendid self-imposed isolation.

That view of him unawares tugged willfully at her heartstrings. He looked impossibly grim. Pushed too hard too fast into something he didn't understand and had trouble comprehending.

Cole's gaze lifted abruptly, dropping his arms. He did nothing to mask the heartache there, and it was hard to see. How she wished she could go to him… that he would put his arms around her and hold her the way he had last night. But he was keeping his distance from her. He seemed a thousand miles further away from her than mere feet. It felt like a divide the width of the universe stretched between them.

She looked at him, and for several moments, all she did was stare. His nearness had always affected her powerfully, but this time the effect was magnified tenfold after what had gone on between them last night.

"Thank you for meeting me." It was the lightest tone she could muster.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asked emotionlessly, as if she was a complete stranger.

Ember blinked once. Twice. She hadn't been prepared for  _that_ , or the way he looked right at her.  _Through_  her. She hadn't been prepared for him to build a wall between them over night. She stood awkwardly, wondering what she should do or say in the face of this new development. Tension was between them; she could feel its presence, alive and distancing. She hated it.

Determined to break through to him, she slowly approached him. He visibly stiffened, his eyes shifting to the balcony doors, as if to escape. She stopped instantly, a few feet away from him. She needed to tread carefully. He was obviously teetering on the brink of bolting, and if she said or did the wrong thing, he was going to tear out of the room.

"I wanted to talk about last night."

Cole's head snapped to the side to stare into the fire, his eyes flinty in the firelight, a muscle pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw. "It won't happen again," he stated, his voice harsh with remorse.

Ember's lips parted as she stared incredulously at Cole. Staring at his face, she knew without asking that last night would be their only time together. The resolve was there. She could see it clearly.

A realization dawned on her, so brutally hard that she felt ill and nearly stumbled. "You regret it." Ember's fists clenched as tears prickled behind her lids, turning her vision watery. "You regret me."

Something sharp and pained passed over his face, but he hardened his features. "I regret me."

"I know this is hard for you. A lot happened last night. I'm sure it was more than a little overwhelming, confusing, and frightening. I wish there was something I could do to help you. We'll work through this together, okay? We just need to talk about it." She dipped her head so she could see his eyes. "Everything is going be alright, Cole. I promise."

He took a shaky breath. "You hear but you don't listen." He didn't look at her. He remained quiet for a long, unnerving moment. After a long time, he said, voice strained, "I shouldn't be here anymore."

Pain surged anew and twisted inside her, so acute that she had to put a hand to her belly. What did that mean? Was he planning on leaving Skyhold? Was that it? Was he going to just leave after…

"I won't leave you," he said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "I will help the people here. I will help you defeat the Elder One. I will protect you. I won't abandon you, dear heart."

Her eyes glinted. "But you won't be with me, is that it?"

He looked at her with more sincerity and honesty than she'd ever seen in them before. "You said it would be better to be apart. I see that now."

Ember went to shaking her head. It was almost too much to process. "But I don't want to be apart."

He hopped off her desk and the piece of parchment that had been resting on his lap fluttered softly to the floor. He headed for the stairs, as if to go. She stared at him for a minute, stunned, not believing what she was seeing. He was going to leave? He was just going to leave? When he brushed passed her, as if she didn't even exist, she became nearly violent. Rage, and something uncomfortably near panic, seared her insides.

"NO!" Ember gripped his arm, as if she could bind him to her.

Cole disappeared and her hand gripped nothing but air. He reappeared a few feet away from her and was already heading for the stairs.

She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You can't just walk away from this. I know you felt it too."

He peered at her, his expression more intent and serious than she'd ever seen it. "I'm not alive, remember. Shadow taken form."

"You feel something for me," she stated firmly with absolute clarity.

He shook his head and his face dropped like his heart was breaking. "I shouldn't."

His eyes shifted. She followed his gaze to the piece of parchment he'd been reading that was now on the floor in front of her desk. She took a few steps toward her desk and her heart stopped when she looked down at the parchment, recognizing it immediately. It was the note she'd written herself right after she'd escaped the dungeons of the White Spire. She bent down and lifted the parchment and read it:

_His name is Cole._

_He's not that old, perhaps twenty years. No more._

_He has shaggy blond hair that hangs in front of his eyes and wears dirty leathers— perhaps the only clothes he owns. His eyes are blue, crystal clear, like melted ice. They are the most haunted eyes you've ever seen. He's tall and lean, as handsome as he is strange._

_He was there when you were locked in the dungeons of the White Spire. He talked to you, he helped you, he protected you. He brought you ratatouille to cheer you up, he got you a book of poems, he made you the necklace you wear around your neck. You liked him, trusted him, cared for him. He was your first kiss. No other will be like it._

_Nobody can see him, and those who do forget him. Just like you are doing right now. Remember the kiss. But also remember that he's the Ghost of the Spire. He killed a mage, an elven girl, right in front of your eyes. He said he'd done it before. He said he did it to feel alive. He most likely will again._

_Cole was your first love._

_Cole is a demon._

The parchment fell from her fingers to land on the surface of her desk, her chest rising and falling. She met his gaze, her face red and shiny like an apple.

"I wrote this a long time ago."

"The last four words are all that matter." Abrasion roughened the low-pitched comment.

Ember looked back down at the parchment at the last four words.

_Cole is a demon._

In an aggrieved tone, she pointed to the note on her desk and said sharply, "That was written by an eighteen-year-old girl who was afraid of something she didn't understand."

He gave her a stony stare, his eyes cold and dark like a slab of stone. "She was right."

Pain sliced through her like a knife blade. For a moment she couldn't even speak, a lead ball in her stomach. She stood on shaky legs, and the last ounce of energy she possessed seemed to siphon out of her. Her chin fell to her chest, and she seemed to deflate.

"So, that's it?" She strangled out the words, unable to look at him. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"To swim in the sea, you have to grow gills."

Her head lifted sharply. "What the hell does that mean?"

His expression shuttered. "That I am me. Not spirit after all. No escaping it. Can't change my nature by wishing. Can't change, no matter how much I want to. Always this. Can't just believe it to become it. Not human, no matter how bad I want to be that for you," he uttered in a tiny voice. "Protect you. Nothing else matters."

Growing increasingly frustrated, she asked, "Protect me from what?"

"Me." It was an aching, hollow sound.

Her hands fisted at her sides. "I don't want protection from you."

His brows dropped low over his eyes. "You should."

"Well, I don't!" she cried, exasperated. "You see that note? That note is what kept me afraid of you for five years! I will not waste another moment of my life believing you are something you are not. I will not waste another minute letting fear rule over what it is I feel for you. And if you think, for one second, that I will give up on us so easily after everything we've been through, you don't know me at all!"

His shadowed eyes locked with hers and the movement of his lips was nowhere near a smile, more of a grimace of regret, which made everything hurt so much worse.

"See me when you look at me and you'll see you're not safe with me," he muttered with a cracked voice. "Apart is best, just like you said. I don't… I don't know what else to do."

Ember felt the hollowness in her gut open up, wide and bottomless as ever. "Cole… you've been asking me to see you. Well, I do. I see kindness, caring, compassion. I see my ghost, my protector, my dearest friend. But most of all I see goodness. Why can't you see yourself?"

His head bowed, his chin hitting his sternum. His shoulders were slumped as if a heavy weight rested atop them. Despair hung on the man so thick that it clogged the air.

"All I see is blood," Cole uttered severely, his voice ragged and tight with emotion. Cole looked down at his hands to stare at them in horror. "All I see is your blood on my body, my tongue, my hands, under my fingernails. Blood because of me. It won't wash off. No matter how hard I try. Scrubbing until raw. But it won't wash off. Never wash off." His voice started to rise, the words running together, a terrible momentum of growing hysteria. "Swore I'd never hurt you. Vowed. Pledged. Promised. And then I… I…" His voice was choked, a wealth of pain in his face. "You'll be safe away from me, dear heart, I swear to you. Safe and sound."

"I'm safe with you."

At her quiet vehemence, Cole sliced a hard glance her way from beneath his lashes, his eyes stabbing through the dim light into her. Suddenly, he was standing over her, boring down on her, driving her to back up against the desk's edge. There was a dark edge to him. Tension coiled her muscles, panic strumming her nerves. She tried to move away, but his hand came up and pushed against her collarbone in a way that was unmistakably intimidating, slowly forcing her down until her back pressed into the desktop.

"No. You're not." His blue eyes were glacial.

Her senses reeled, rawly frenzied, and she squirmed underneath him, but he held her still and her skin singed where he touched her.

"I  _wanted_  to possess you." A blade with a serrated edge clearing its sheath, that was Cole's voice.

Her tummy lurched in stricken protest. "No. You couldn't possibly. You are-"

"I  _know_  what I am." His jaw was clenched so tight she could hear his teeth ground painfully against each other. "Look into my eyes…" he ordered, his voice hoarse from the raw tightness in his throat. "What do you see?"

A pulse began to beat low in her neck as she forced herself to meet his gaze. Those arresting orbs stared her dead in the eyes beneath long charcoal lashes and she felt as if his eyes were burning a pathway to her soul.

She saw sorrow, guilt, regret, and pain.

But underneath all of that, she saw shadows.

She felt something in her chest drop to the floor as she looked closer, deeper, peering into the haunted darkness swirling in a sea of ice blue. Shadows were in his eyes and in his blood, were an essential part of who he was, anchoring him to a different world.

"You see it, don't you?" His voice was harsh, tension ebbing and flowing like a violent surf beneath his skin. "This is the part of me that is not, and never will be, human." A slightly demonic look lit behind his eyes. "This is the part of me that wants to take everything you are and make it  _mine_."

He leaned over her backward-bent form, bringing his face close, his nose almost touching hers. His breathing was hard and deep, the unyielding planes of his chest pressing against the pound of her heartbeat.

"This is the part of me that wants to wrap myself around you, know every part inside, every inch of your soul." His breath stirred the hair around her flushed face. "This is the part of me that wants to consume everything you are, until there's nothing left of you, until there's no separation between us."

She breathed rapidly, her heart thundering violently as his fingertips slowly trailed along the bare skin of her collarbone to the smooth dip at the base of her throat, sending a trembling shockwave through her. The faint touch felt like a moonbeam brushing across her skin, and she felt it down deep within herself as if he'd touched her center.

The harshness bled from his face to be replaced with a miasma of despair. "And I fear that if I let myself be in you again… I'll be truly lost. And so will you." The words sounded forced from his throat as he touched the pulse in her neck in a fingertip caress. His chest expanded against hers and he released a barely audible, shuddering breath. "I will  _not_  hurt you again."

Ember squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head senselessly at him, feeling dizzy as his words formed a tightly wound knot in her gut. So that's what this was. He wanted to frighten her so she would stay away. He didn't understand. He didn't understand that what had happened was normal, that it was just being human. He didn't understand that he hadn't hurt her, that blood alone didn't mean pain and death. He didn't understand that even the most controlled men could lose themselves in the body of the one they loved. He didn't understand that some emotions could become so powerful that it felt like something else was taking you over, controlling you. He didn't understand that the urge to possess was not restricted to only demons.

Her opened to look up into the face hovering not even an inch above her. "You didn't hurt me, Cole. You just don't understand," she managed to say, despite how everything within her was in turmoil. "You think what you feel means you're a demon, but you're wrong," she murmured in a wobbly undertone. "What you feel is what a man feels when he wants a woman. That's all." She swallowed back the thickness in her throat and struggled to breathe at a regular rate. "Those feelings make you human, Cole."

His eyes flashed filaments of pure azurite. "Don't let my appearance fool you. I am not human." The lean, hard planes of his face looked harsh and forbidding, his strong jaw set and rigid. "I'm a _monster_."

A sob choked in her throat. Heat swelled her eyes. "But did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, even if you are a monster… you still might be my soulmate, anyway?"

His expression twisted, the pain a hard grimace on his face as he turned slightly away from her. The guilt on his face was devastating, consuming, and the mere sight of it shredded her heart to ribbons.

"Cole…" The hard knot of distress that was lodged in her throat made the name sound hoarse.

She lifted her hand toward him and he didn't move, so she bit her lip and touched his face. His skin was as smooth as it looked, milky-white and as smooth as porcelain beneath her fingertips. Though she used the lightest of touches, she felt his entire body tense tighter than a bowstring the moment her skin brushed his, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Please… don't touch me." His voice was full of strain, deepened by his internal conflict. "I don't deserve it."

"Look into my eyes…" Her lips trembled uncontrollably and her vision blurred with hot tears as her fingertips traced the smoothness of his cheek.

Cole's eyes flickered to hers.

"You see it, don't you?" Watery eyes stared up at him, crowned by deeply angled red brows. "This is the part of me that is, and always will be, in love with you." Her voice shook when she spoke. "No matter what you are or what you've done."

Only a hairsbreadth away, she watched Cole squeeze his eyes shut and his jaw go rigid, as if he was bracing himself against pain.

Her fingers feathered over the locked line of his jaw.

His eyes snapped open, those soul-destroying orbs capturing and holding hers. Too many emotions flitted across his face for her to name.

Her forefinger ran up his chin to gently trace the curve of his lower lip.

His eyes were bright as the heart of a fire as they fell to stare fixatedly at her mouth, as if he was remembering how it felt beneath his own.

She caught a long breath, the air seeming electric and heavy with powerful memories that wrecked havoc on her nerves. The space separating them seemed to crackle with invisible sparks as every molecule in the room began to charge and collide. Her mouth being separated by so much as an inch from his was a torment that overpowered other considerations.

Emotion welled in her chest cavity as she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, holding him in place. She lifted her head off the desk, bringing her lips closer to his.

"What the devil?!"

"Cullen, he's hurting her! Do something!"

The sharp exclamations startled them so badly that they both jumped.

Ember's head turned to the side on the desk to see Cullen barrel toward them. "Get off of her!"

She had no time to protest or explain, though, before he reached them. Cullen shoved Cole away from her and the abrupt absence of his heat was like an icy burn. Cullen grabbed her arm and pulled her off the desk, away from Cole with a strength that made her stumble.

From the corner of her eye she saw Cole take an abrupt step in her direction, saw the concern in his eyes, but Cullen shoved himself between them and let his fist fly, connecting squarely with Cole's jaw and felling him to the ground.

Cole didn't stay down. With incredible agility he rolled to his feet and balanced in a defensive crouch, his arms slightly raised to allow the greatest freedom of movement. The wicked-looking dagger that had suddenly materialized in his right hand gleamed with lethality.

"I don't want to hurt you," Cole uttered in a deadly whisper, regarding the ex-templar coldly.

Cullen brandished his sword. "You were choking the Inquisitor! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Cullen, that's not what happened!" Urgency threaded through Ember's voice. "You don't understand!"

Cullen looked at her, clearly confused, and looking like he wanted to reply, but was unable to form words in his mouth.

"Do not listen to her, Cullen. She may be under the demon's influence," Vivienne snapped as she came to stand beside Cullen, staring at Cole as if he were a snake, getting ready to strike. "It would be wiser for you to flee into the Fade, creature, and never return."

Blue eyes glinted like hard coal. "I'm here to help. I won't leave until she tells me to," Cole murmured, his voice taut.

"So desperate for your prey?" Vivienne retorted with asperity.

A muscle flexed in Cole's jaw. "She is not my prey."

Ember cast the enchantress a caustic glare, and bit out, "Cole is not a-"

"Not a demon? Of course he is," Vivienne stated, her tone biting. "And what is worse, I think this creature has pretended to be one of us for so long that it has forgotten what it really is…" Vivienne gave Cole a baleful look. "…a parasite that's wormed its way into our world, feeding off all the things it can't have."

"Take it back! TAKE IT BACK!" Ember bellowed as she got in Vivienne's face, her chest heaving with indignation.

"This is the thanks I get for coming to your defense?" Vivienne asked incredulously, disbelief and outrage giving an edge to her voice.

"You hurl your cutting words as if they were wisdom when they are nothing more than the frightened epithets of a templar lapdog, and I am sick of hearing them!" Ember exclaimed stridently.

Vivienne's eyes rounded. "Inquisitor, darling, you don't-"

"You will apologize to Cole right now and you will-" Ember's voice trailed off to nothing when she looked back to see that Cole had disappeared as if he were smoke from an extinguished flame.

Ember cringed as something grabbed at her chest like a claw. Tightened. Squeezed. Her chest gave a suffocating spasm, her insides suddenly feeling hollow and empty, as if they had been scraped out with something sharp.

Feeling numb all over, save for that aching place in her chest where a bleeding heart now lay, the Inquisitor turned away from Cullen and Vivienne to run her fingers under her eyes, wiping the tears away before turning to face them again.

"Thanks guys. Thanks a lot," she muttered miserably.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Snake Eyes_  by Mumford & Sons.


	18. Visits At Midnight

_Though stung with a hundred arrows_

_Though suffering from ailments both great and small_

_His heart was strong_

_And he moved on_

_\- Chant of Light_

It was eerily silent.

The moon was full in the midnight sky, providing ample light on Skyhold.

A shadowy figure slipped silently and effortlessly through the Inquisitor's window.

Just as it did every night.

In the hushed stillness of the Inquisitor's bedchamber, the shadowy figure kept to the dark corner of her room where no light penetrated.

Time passed as the figure stood unnaturally still. Silent as death. Watching. Keeping to the shadows, utterly and devastatingly alone. Silent and starving, the figure watched her. Always watching.

Cole, the Ghost of the Spire, companion to the Inquisitor, stared into the mirror on the Inquisitor's vanity and tried to find himself. But a demon stared back at him in the reflection.

He moved through this life like a wraith passing through the thin knots of milling people like a ghost, nothing but a cold draft on the back of the necks of those he passed.

But not her. With her, he was more than a demon, more than a ghost, more than himself. She made him feel good. Good? No, that didn't go far enough. She made him feel… alive. Real. Human.

And he'd hurt her.

The memories came, barreling through his mind in an avalanche of fresh horror, remorse, and shame.

The guilt… it chafed the open wound until it bled.

He would never forgive himself for that.  _Never_.

As he stood in the dark corner of her room, he suppressed the nearly irresistible desire to rub his chest until the aching hole in it disappeared.

He knew he shouldn't be here, in her room, anywhere near her, but it was the only way to remain and the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

The full moon disappeared behind a cloud, casting the entire room in darkness. As if waiting for it, he then moved through the dark toward her bed, as if drawn by an invisible force. He made not a sound, gliding across the wooden floorboards like smoke over a river.

He stumbled abruptly as his body dissipated, ice cold invading him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he reached out for the wall to steady himself, afraid his hand would pass right through. He suddenly felt like he was disappearing, like he was becoming immaterial.

His heart was hammering in his throat. A cold sweat was pouring down his face. The shadows in her room shifted and swelled, growing and stretching out toward him. The panic rose within him, clawing at his throat as he felt them surround him, seep into his skin. Way down inside of him, in the darkness he never dared to look, something was there and it was spilling up inside of him. It seeped into every part of him, trying to take him away, back to the world he came from.

Cole suddenly lost all sense of himself and felt only a soul-deep terror that he'd stay this way, without mind or body. His connection was fading. He was fading. He panted, his body shaking and sweating from the effort to solidify. When he'd felt this before, he'd had the urge to kill. No more. He had an urge, but it was not to kill. The urge was something else. Something that had everything to do with  _her_.

Cole's movement forward was automatic, against his will, his feet unconsciously taking him to where he needed to be. Each dragging step toward her was necessary, desperate, needy, like a man lost in a snowstorm, crawling toward a bonfire. Being near her was crucial, paramount, as imperative as breathing.

With each step that brought him closer to her, the shadows slowly stopped closing in on him.

He moved as silent as moonlight to stand beside her bed and stared down at her. Instantly, the cold, swirling emptiness in his chest stilled. He drew in a deep breath, the air in his lungs filled with the scent of her, and it was only then that he was able to regain the use of his lungs.

He was breathing again.

Real.

Alive.

Only she could do that to him.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Cole stood staring down at Ember's slumbering form. He stood stock-still, arrested by just looking at her, just like he always was when he looked at her. She was sleeping on her stomach, the side of her head resting on her forearm, the other hand hanging off the side of the bed. Her fingers were wrapped around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her pillow. His eyes drank in the sight of her freckled face and fine-boned features. Her ruby lips were parted, brows softened. A blood-red curl rested across her cheek, her even breaths stirring it with each exhale.

Beautiful. Utterly and unimaginably beautiful.

So much so it was hard to look at her.

 _Why are you here? Why do you return every night?_ Cole thought, but he knew why. Because he felt this strange, unbearable urge to be near her. No, it was a need. He  _needed_  to be close to her, to simply… be near her. Always. Night after night, ever since he'd arrived at Skyhold, the need became more and more undeniable. He ached. All over. All the time. It was a wound that bled into his damned soul and only eased in her presence.

His entire attention became fixated on her torso, on the sunbeam flaring within her. So bright. Twinkling and shimmering. A single flame flickering in the darkness that surrounded her. There was no light in the room. No light but the one shining luminously from within her. It radiated from beneath her skin. A glowing light in the darkest night that could wash away the darkness of hell. It made her body haloed with a white-golden light, giving her an ethereal glow, painting her in color against a grayscale world.

 _Ember_ , he thought, and even her name inflicted torture upon his mind that felt like it was splitting at the seams.

Without conscious thought, his hand lifted toward her, uncontrollably, like a dehydrated desert traveler reaching for water. He wasn't supposed to touch her. He didn't deserve to touch her, not after what he'd done.

_You can't._

_You shouldn't._

_Can't, can't, can't!_

_No, no, no!_

_Stop, stop, stop!_

His hand drew closer despite the warnings in his head that begged him not to.

He gritted his teeth and somehow stilled himself. His hand hovered a mere inch above her. His eyes were wide, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the heat of her skin. She was fire-hot. There was a blissful feeling echoing inside of him as her heat and light seeped into his skin, warming him from the inside out, driving away the hard ice and dark that coated his veins. She was the only thing that could.

 _Touch her_ , his mind screamed at him, the urgency of it burning through him.  _Need to. One touch and you might last another night._

His tenuous control shattered. Reaching out, ever so carefully, he touched the very tips of two fingers to her cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut and he nearly groaned. Instant relief and torture all at once. A feeling of being made whole. Every time. More pain, more joy than anyone can bear.

The moment his fingers touched her skin, Ember stirred in her sleep and made a slight, whispery noise that may have been his name in response to his touch. But she didn't awaken.

Trembling, his fingertips trailed over the soft skin of her cheek with the utmost piety. His eyes followed the movement of his hand as he feathered back the curl hanging in her face, his expression one of infinite longing. Haunted eyes were intense and unwavering as they raked over her, as if memorizing every line, every curve of her face. With all the care in the world, he brushed his fingers along her jaw, touching her lightly, so lightly, just skimming his fingertips along her jawline, as if there wasn't anything more precious in all of Thedas.

He swallowed visibly. There was skin under his fingertips, soft and warm, and something dark and primitive reared its head and took notice inside him, waking up growling and ravenous.

Hunger pulsed inside him, seeking desperately to touch more of her. It was an overwhelming burning need deep inside. A heat and hunger that craved to be sated. He wanted his arms full of her to banish the black emptiness inside him. He didn't want to just have her. He wanted to fill her. Consume her. Devour her. Bury himself in all that fire. Bind her to him.

Blue eyes wide and wild, blacker than usual, remained fixated on her face intently. There was an urgency in his every heartbeat to touch, to claim, to fill, to breathe her in and never let her go. He felt an uncontrollable need to possess her endlessly, to brand her as his own, to take everything she was until she was a physical part of him.

Cole's hand immediately pulled back, growing colder as he drew away from her. With each inch that came between him there was a tearing in his chest, a rending he felt at the depths of his soul. An unbearable ache crushed heavily upon him, like a thousand suns. The hand that had touched her spread out and then relaxed against his side. His breath left him in short, silent bursts as the darkness whispered to him, urged him to claim the one thing he so desperately wanted.  _Needed_. How desperately he wanted to… to…

Cole shook his head fiercely and crouched down, placing his head between his knees and his hands over his head.

Too much. There was too much happening inside of him. It was a chaotic tangled web of things he'd never felt before. He didn't understand them. They erupted within him, impulses he didn't understand. He didn't understand anything anymore. His thoughts raced and he didn't trust a single one of them. Everything out of control. Too intense, too much. Cotton in his ears, hearing only himself and the unfamiliar things raging within him that hurt his head, tightened his lungs, and pressed on his chest. Too many. Raw. Sick. Choking. Tangles on top of knots. Drowning. Unbearable.  _Frightening_.

He rocked back and forth, fingers digging into the back of his skull as he clenched his jaw tightly, forcing the maddening maelstrom that raged within him to diminish, refusing to let it flare beyond his control, refusing to drown in it. He couldn't lose himself. Not like before. Never again.

 _Demon_ , he reminded himself, trying to gain some semblance over his throbbing body and breaking mind. That was why he couldn't have her. And because he couldn't bear to see her blood on him again. Blood that spilled because of him. Nightmare had said he brought only death. What if he touched her and he didn't just hurt her? He could never forgive himself if the light within her blew out because of him.

Leaving would be best, but every time he tried he didn't get far.

She needed protection.

Someone to look out for her, to watch over her.

Not just someone…  _him_.

She needed  _him_.

 _She. Needed. Him_.

No one else ever had.

But she did.

A marrow-deep feeling of protectiveness filled him and all of his senses zeroed in on it.

He'd promised years ago that no one was ever going to hurt her. He would keep it. No matter how much he wanted, no matter how fierce this burning need.

No one would ever harm her.

Not even himself.

 _Never touch her again_ , he scolded himself.  _Stay away. Protecting from a distance. Never hurt her again. If you do, cut yourself down._

The clouds in the sky moved, revealing the full moon once again that cast its silvery light in beams into her room.

Cole stood and took a step back, then another, retreating from her and shrinking out of the light of the moon. The shadows of her room welcomed him as he sank back into them, like a controlling parent welcoming home a rebellious child.

He returned to the dark corner of her room where no light penetrated. From the darkness of her room he watched her. Watched her like a freezing man out in the snow watches the flames of a warm fire flicker and dance through a frosted windowpane.

And when the sun rose in a few hours and kissed her skin through her window, he would be gone, as all things of the night tended to do in the morning light of day.

With the coming of the sun he would return to coveting from a distance, each new day a tortuous exercise in self-control and restraint.

But he would return when darkness once again claimed the world.

He always returned.

Always would.

**Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Lullaby_ by Chase Coy.


	19. Candy

_And down they fled_

_Into darkness and despair_

_\- Threnodies 8:28_

It was sunrise in Emprise Du Lion. Just outside of a red templar stronghold that served as their primary source of red lyium, Ember stood in the snow in the stronghold's massive courtyard, her back pressed against a marble column. She was drenched from head to toe in a cold sweat, breathing hard, her lungs fighting for breath. Her daggers were crossed over her chest, her face covered with snowflakes, sweat, blood, and dirt.

"Inquisitor! You got a wave heading straight for you!" Varric called in warning from his perch up high that provided the archer the best view to cause the most damage.

Ember exhaled slowly before stepping out from behind the column and ramming her dagger into a red templar who was about to run passed her and attack Cullen while his back was turned. The blade plunged deep into the red templar's chest, taking him by surprise, a second before it was ripped out.

She spun away from his toppling body. With sleek litheness, she ran forward to meet two approaching red templars. With two daggers in her hands she dove, as if performing a swan dive into a pool of water, and in mid-air her daggers sliced through their throats right before she fell forward into a perfect forward roll. She was on her feet in an instant and sent both daggers flying forward into the chests of two red templars who were almost upon her, their weapons raised. They fell dead to the snowy ground as she raced passed them, her steps never slowing, never faltering as she rushed into the fray.

"The righteous stand before the darkness," the Herald whispered in prayer as she unslung the bow around her shoulders and notched an arrow. "And the Maker shall guide their hand." The grip on her bow was steadfast as she aimed and fired.

The arrow soared through the air and sank into the skin between the eyes of the approaching red templar. As he fell forward she leapt, one foot landing on his shoulder and she pushed off it to leap up and scissor a red templar's head between her legs and flip him over onto his back. Ember lifted a dagger from her belt as she straddled him and slashed the blade across his throat.

She rolled backwards over her shoulder and stood on her feet, raising her bow. Swift nimble fingers drew an arrow from her quiver, aimed, and released. Before the arrow hit its mark, Ember pulled another arrow, took aim, and fired. She reached back again, pulled, aimed, and released. Ember was panting as she watched all three arrows pierce the skin right between the eyes of three red templars.

"Ahh, shiiit! There's no end to them!" Bull roared a few feet away from her, his greatsword slicing through multiple enemies with each swing while Bianca rained down arrows upon the red templars in the snow-covered courtyard.

"Inquisitor, we are outnumbered! We need to retreat! We can't last much longer!" Cullen shouted as he ran up behind her, his sword cutting down enemies with each step.

"No!" she shot back, frustrated and furious. "We got Samson cornered and trapped in that stronghold! We got him! We can't let him get away now!"

A side gate was ripped off at the hinges. Ember ducked right before the gate hit her. Her eyes widened as four Red Templar Behemoths moved into the courtyard. They were massive in size with blood red crystals of red lyrium sticking out of their shoulders. They screamed in unison. Not a roar or a growl – a scream, all rage and pain. As Ember strapped her bow to her back and bent to pull her last two daggers that were strapped to her calves, all she could think was that there was a templar in there. Somewhere in that thing was a man or a woman. But whoever it might have been, their humanity was lost, swallowed by corruption and lies.

"Inquisitor," Cullen said beside her. "I blocked off the entrance. The red templars can't get into the courtyard. For now. This is our chance to retreat." She glared at him and he shook his head at her. "We cannot win this fight, Inquisitor. It will take all five of us just to take down one of those things, and the red templars will be swarming us again in a few minutes."

"What do you wanna do, boss?" Bull asked gravelly as he moved to stand on her other side, breathing heavily despite his attempts to hide it.

"We need to get Samson."

"Inquisitor," Cullen said, drawing her name out with a touch of censure.

She cut him off by holding up her hand. Her eyes narrowed on the four behemoths in front of her, her breath billowing puffs of white mist in front of her face as she thought.

"Bianca!" she called out after a long pause. "Hit number four on my right with everything you got on my signal!"

"You got it, your Inquisitorialness!" she heard Varric call down to her from his hiding spot high above them on the catwalk.

"Bull, on my say you chop down the big one in the middle like you're a damn lumberjack and it's a frickin tree."

Bull chuckled. "You got it, boss."

"Cullen, you get through that blockade, make it into the stronghold, and get Samson."

Irritated, Cullen looked at her. "And how, pray tell, do you plan on my doing that?"

Ember smirked up at him as she handed him a Fire Bomb grenade.

Cullen's eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. "Oh," he said simply as he took the grenade from her, obviously impressed. "And what about you?"

Her breath condensed in front of her face, snowflakes falling upon her, sticking to her eyelashes and reddening her cheeks. "I'll take care of the other two behemoths."

Cullen's face fell, the scar on his upper lip deepening. "Wait? What about the red templars? I only bought us a few minutes. They'll break through the barricade and you'll be overwhelmed in seconds."

A warm, little smile touched her lips as she looked away from Cullen to stare over her shoulder at the empty space behind her where small whirlwinds of snow were dancing along the open expanse of whiteness that covered the ground.

"Will you keep them off of me?" she asked the snowy emptiness behind her, a tenderness in her aquamarine eyes that only a rare few were ever privileged enough to see in the Herald of Andraste's eyes.

"They won't hurt you," came the gently spoken response from the very air itself. "I'd never let that happen."

Cole flickered to life a few feet behind her. The wide brim of his hat was lowered low over his face, concealing his eyes. He looked supremely dangerous in the black leather armor he wore, especially with the dual daggers in his hands that were coated with fresh blood.

"Inquisitor, you can't be serious?" Cullen grumbled beside her, though her eyes refused to leave Cole. "If you and the others focus on the behemoths, you will be leaving Cole to take on the endless waves of red templars alone. If you do that, it  _will_  die."

When she didn't even blink an eyelash, seeming unfazed, Cullen scowled at her side profile.

"I'm not its number one fan or anything, but if you do this you will be sending Cole to its death!" Cullen exclaimed. "Or its termination, its expiration, send it back to the Fade, or whatever it is that happens to a demon when it dies!"

Cole's chin lowered, the wide brim of his hat hiding his eyes, but she could see one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly into a little smirk. "They can't hurt me."

Those low, rich tones seeped into her skin, warming her from the inside out despite the freezing temperature around her. There was a rush of adrenaline pumping through her and she knew her body wasn't having this reaction because she was in the middle of a fight, but simply because Cole was standing in front of her, looking at her, smiling that little smirk that could turn her inside out.

In the distance she heard a grenade go off, destroying the barricade Cullen had created. Cole nodded before turning his back to her, taking a few steps away. Admiration rippled through her as she watched the steel in his hands roll skillfully between his long, dexterous fingers as he faced the first wave of red templars that had broken through the barricade.

"You won't see me," she heard Cole murmur to the approaching wave of red templars with a soft confidence that only  _he_  could have as he spun the daggers expertly in his hands before becoming nothing more than a gust of winter wind.

The others burst into action around her, carrying out her orders, but for a long moment all Ember could do was watch Cole as he attacked with unrivaled proficiency. He moved in that mesmerizing way that defied tracking with the naked eye. His skills with a blade were honed and ruthless. Unmatched. You couldn't kill what wasn't there, and Cole was able to disappear from the world whenever he wanted. It reminded her how otherworldly and untouchable he was, and that dangerous allure called to everything feminine in her. And despite the fact that Cole was fighting dozens of red templars singlehandedly, a fight that Cullen had thought suicidal, she still felt his eyes on her the entire time.

A scream from behind her caused her to spin around to face the two behemoths approaching her. The Inquisitor's body ached from dozens of bruises and cuts, but she ignored the pain and forced herself into action. With a cry, the Herald of Andraste threw her left hand forward and green sparks flew from it as the Veil tore and a rift formed above the heads of the two behemoths. Their screams, loud and shrill, split the air as they were sucked into the Fade, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

_Two down, two to go._

Ember turned to find the fourth behemoth covered in arrows. Before she could take one step toward the creature, Bianca's arrow flew through the air and embedded itself in the skull of the fourth behemoth, killing it instantly.

_Only one to go._

"I'm out of arrows!" she heard Varric call out, but his words were drowned by the scream of the last remaining behemoth as its claw sliced across Bull's arm causing the Qunari to growl in response.

Ember's eyes narrowed to slits on the creature as she raced forward to plunge her daggers deep into the exposed side of the behemoth. The creature screamed in pain before swinging towards her. Ember leaned back to avoid it, but the tip of its claw slashed across her eyebrow, cutting deep, causing blood to stream down the side of her face.

The behemoth tried to gut her with its claw, but she flipped backwards, quickly putting space between them. Before the behemoth could attack her again, Bull charged in and swung his sword at the creature's leg, slicing its Achilles tendon open.

Ember wiped the blood off her face with her sleeve before she sprinted towards Bull who was currently running his sword into the back of the creature's leg.

"Bull!" she shouted as she ran towards the Qunari.

Bull slashed at the behemoth's calf before facing her. "What?"

A sly grin crept onto Ember's face, her eyes glinting diabolically. "I need a lift."

Bull grinned back knowingly. "You got it, boss."

Ember picked up speed, pushing her exhausted and bleeding body harder and faster. Bull strapped his sword before bending down, one hand on top of the other, hands held out slightly in front of his body. Ember leapt at him, placing her hands on Bull's shoulders and her feet in his hands. Bull dipped and tossed her into the air with all his strength. Ember turned in mid-air and brought her daggers down into its upper back right below the red lyrium crystals growing out of its shoulders.

The beast screamed and turned sharply causing her daggers to drag down its back, cutting through tendons and tissue before becoming lodged in the bones of its spine. She tried to pull her daggers out but they were stuck.

Catching her unawares, the behemoth's massive hand reached around to encircle her waist completely before rippling her off its back, her daggers still stuck. The creature held her like a doll in front of its face, red crystals sprouting out of its neck and shoulders. It screamed in her face, its rotten breath so putrid she nearly gaged. It began to squeeze her, like she was a grape. Ember gritted her teeth against the pain, feeling her ribs bend and creak. She clawed at its hand to try and get free as it brought her closer to its face, prepared to finish her.

Steel whizzed passed her ears, so close it ruffled the red curls around them, right before twin daggers became embedded in the behemoth's red glowing eyes, causing red blood to spew in rivers from the daggers embedded in those red eyes.

The behemoth roared, the blaring sound fading as the life left the creature. Its huge and lifeless body plummeted backward to the ground, taking her with him. The behemoth collided violently into the snow-covered earth with a thunderous crash, causing a shockwave to ripple out from the impact.

As the dust settled, Ember rose slowly, shakily from the behemoth's neck. She jumped tiredly off the creature's neck and landed on the ground hard, falling to one knee. As she slowly got to her unsteady feet, her eyes lifted to peer up at Cole who strolled casually up to the head of the behemoth. He stared down at the red lyrium filled creature from beneath his wide-brimmed hat before bending down and grabbing his daggers sticking out of the beast's eyes. He planted his foot on top of its head, and pushed it off of his daggers. Cole shook the blood from his daggers before sheathing them at his back.

Ember looked over her shoulder to find Bull coming to stand beside her followed by Varric. She nodded at them before starting on the long, icy approach to the stronghold. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cole flank them.

With each step toward the red templar stronghold, which stood four stories high and built of gray stone, the adrenaline subsided and her body began to feel its many injuries. The front entrance was very imposing, she thought, as she mounted the numerous frost-covered granite steps to reach it. Inside was as cold as it was out, but with an added dreariness and sense of menace. There was no one around, not one red templar. There wasn't even a sound. Fires caused by battle and a hasty attempt to destroy all evidence were the only source of light and the flames flickered across the black marble floors that were stained with blood and littered with corpses.

"Which way?" she whispered into the eerie silence.

Bull and Varric both shrugged.

Cole lifted his head into the air, eyes searching, as if listening. After a long pause, he stepped forward and pointed down a long, dark corridor. "There."

They proceeded quietly down the long dark hallway before Cole broke the silence. "The Iron Bull, in the fight, you let someone hit you so they wouldn't hit me."

"Yes?"

"But you hate demons."

Bull sighed. "Listen, Cole. You might be a weird, squirrelly guy, but you're my weird, squirrelly guy."

"Oh. Thank you."

Bull grumbled, "Just don't make it weird. No full hugs. Maybe a one-armed slap on the back… at most."

"Alright."

Silence descended again as they passed a massive pile of corpses, most of their limbs removed. In order to break the heaviness of the mood, Varric cleared his throat and asked, "Hey, Kid, what would a pride demon say to weaken a warrior's resolve? I need something that gets under the skin."

"Does she use a big sword, or a sword and shield?"

"One of the big two handers."

"The next time you imagine him touching you, someone you love will die."

"Err, well, that went a little dark. Who's 'him' in this?"

"She knows who he is. Does it not work for your book?"

"No, it works great! Just glad you're not that kind of demon."

When they reached the end of the hallway, Cole pointed toward the next corridor they needed to follow. "Cullen, Samson, and Maddox are this way," Cole whispered as she passed him to walk down the hallway.

Ember's pulse leapt at the sound of Maddox's name. She'd never told Cole or anyone else about how she knew the circle mage Maddox and his wife Raven - Samson's beloved sister who'd secretly married Maddox in Kirkwall. Raven… it hurt just thinking about her, about the comely and friendly woman who'd asked Ember to carry her love letters to her husband when Ember had been seventeen-years-old and an apostate who'd gone to Kirkwall in search of Sister Nightingale.

For months Ember had carried Raven's and Maddox's love letters to each other. But one night, while walking the streets of Kirkwall on her way to the Gallows, a gang calling themselves the Invisible Sisters had ambushed her. Ember had defeated the gang members, but a sword had cut her leg, though she'd failed to realize it. She'd gone to the Gallows and obtained Maddox's love letter for his wife, but her leg had been bleeding and she'd left a trail of blood from Maddox's window to Raven's house in Lowtown where Ember had left Maddox's love letter on Raven's front porch.

A Kirkwall templar named Ser Alrik had followed the trail of blood. He'd found the love letter on the porch that Maddox had written for Raven and he'd assumed her brother Samson was the one who'd carried the letter. The templars had arrested Raven that night. Ember had seen the templars close in on the sweet woman's house. She knew what they were going to do and she knew that Raven needed her help. But Ember had been seventeen-years-old and an apostate. She'd been scared, terrified of being arrested by templars, of being beaten and raped, of being thrown into the dungeons or worse, made Tranquil.

Ember had known then that the right thing was to help the innocent woman who's only crime had been loving a mage with all her heart. But Ember hadn't done the right thing. Instead of helping, she'd run away, leaving the poor woman to her fate, hearing her screams as she ran.

Ember had been the reason Samson had been discharged from the Templar Order, the reason Maddox was made Tranquil, and the reason Raven was arrested for helping Maddox escape the circle one night so they could be married in the Chantry. But Raven hadn't been arrested immediately. Ser Alrik, a sadist, had done unspeakable things to Raven first before throwing her into the dungeons at the Gallows.

Ember carried that guilt around with her every day and lately, having to come face to face with her greatest regret, that guilt was starting to really eat at her. It didn't help that Samson hated her so much for what she'd done to him, his sister, and his brother-in-law that he'd joined Corypheus to become the Vessel so that he would have the power to make her suffer for her sins before he destroyed her.

When they were about half way down the hallway, Cole murmured, "Notes drip through the air."

He began to hum a slow, haunting tune that made the dark, unnerving fortress they were in even spookier.

"Cole?" Ember asked quietly, apprehensively, the haunting tune causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

" _I watched her dance upon the water, beneath a blanket of stars_ ," Cole sang softly, as if he was hearing a song playing somewhere in the distance. " _She twirled and twirled, until she made the night ours_."

"That's… really creepy, Kid," Varric grumbled as they continued to walk down the dark and eerie corridor.

" _In my circle tower I watch_ ," Cole continued to sing, as if he hadn't heard Varric. " _Watch the boat take my heart across the sea."_

Bull muttered, "Cole… buddy… why don't you stop with the weird, ominous singing in the dark and spooky fortress-"

" _City of Chains you take away my mind_.  _But never the memory of the girl that was mine_."

"Boss… he's being creepy again," Bull whined through gritted teeth.

" _Raven, oh Raven mine, with yellow ribbons in her hair_." Cole's voice turned thick. " _Why take a knife to skin so fair?_ "

Ember winced before swallowing thickly and speaking in a small voice, "Cole… please stop-"

" _Raven, oh Raven mine, my love and my wife_ ," Cole sang softly, sadly, as if he was watching an invisible scene play before his eyes. " _Why, oh why, did you end your life?_ "

Cole must be feeling Maddox's feelings, she thought. That was the only explanation for how Cole could know such things. No one knew that story. Knight-Commander Meredith had made sure of that. All they knew was that Samson had been discharged from the Templar Order for delivering messages between Maddox and his sweetheart. They didn't know the whole story. But it was strange that Cole was hearing anything at all from Maddox. Maddox was Tranquil, and the Tranquil were stripped of their emotions.

" _Yellow ribbons in her hair, yellow ribbons in her hair_." The words were sung close to her ear, making her shiver. " _Falling, falling into puddles of red on the prison floor_."

She looked at him, but he quickly looked away from her. Did he know? Did Cole know her deepest and darkest confession? If he did, what did he think of her for not helping Raven? He was a spirit of compassion and what she'd done was the opposite of compassion. Was he disgusted with her? She felt so ashamed.

They came to a stop once they reached the end of the hallway, which deadened with one door on the right and one door on the left.

"Maddox is to the left. Samson and Cullen are to the right," Cole supplied beside her, still not looking at her.

Ember nodded. "Bull and Varric, you two go to the right and help Cullen. Cole and I will get Maddox. Let's meet up out front."

Varric and Bull nodded before disappearing through the door on the right.

With Cole beside her, Ember walked through the left door into what looked like a bedroom that had red lyrium crystals growing out of the ground that were at least seven feet tall.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the raven soaked in blood, sliced open down the middle, resting on the top of a nightstand beside a bed. Heart beating a hard rhythm against her ribs, Ember moved forward on numb legs and reached for the note lying beside the dead bird's carcass.

_The new world. The new god. The red storm will rise. The Inquisitor will die for her sins._

_\- S_

Ember frowned down at the note Samson had left for her before dropping it back to the nightstand. She looked up to find Cole staring at the back wall.

Her heart grew heavy with each step she took as she approached the back of the room where Maddox was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall in his circle mage robes. His brown hair wasn't long and flowing as she remembered it, but was rather cut close to his head. Those brown eyes that had always been warm and friendly were now empty and vacant as they watched her approach. But the greatest change about him was the Chantry sunburst burned onto his forehead that announced him as a Tranquil mage.

Just seeing Maddox again after six years tore her heart to pieces, knowing everything that had happened to him and his wife had been all her fault. Her eyes lingered on the Chantry sunburst burned into his forehead with lyrium and she almost wept. No mage should ever be made Tranquil.  _She_  would never be made Tranquil. She would rather die as Ember Laurent – apostate turned prisoner turned Herald turned Inquisitor - than live as an empty shell of her.

"Hello, Inquisitor," Maddox said in a monotone voice that was completely devoid of emotion.

"Maddox, I…" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Your Tranquil."

"Yes," he answered without feeling. "For Samson's punishment, Knight-Commander Meredith made him make me Tranquil before he was discharged from the Order."

Ember's hand flew to her mouth. That was news to her. She didn't know that Samson had been the one to do the deed. Samson loved Maddox just as much as he loved his sister Raven, and Knight-Commander Meredith had forced him to be the one to make his treasured brother-in-law Tranquil. That woman truly had been a monster.

Ember's eyes took in Maddox's pallor. "You're hurt. Here, have a health potion," she said as she handed the small red bottle to him.

"That would be a waste," he droned blandly. "I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won't be long now."

Ember's breath caught. "Maddox…"

He blinked at her with those dead eyes. "I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape."

"You threw your lives away? For Samson? Why?"

"He is my brother-in-law. I love him." Maddox's eyes began to droop. "I see her. My… Rav…" His eyelids fluttered, his chest rose once, and then the life left him suddenly.

Ember turned away, unable to stare into those eyes that looked just as dead now as they had been when he'd been speaking to her only moments before.

"He kept searching, seeking, sad, but she was gone," she heard Cole whisper to her back. "Now he's with her again."

"Yeah," she replied miserably.

Ember turned to face him and though she wanted to walk into his arms and draw comfort from his embrace, she forced herself to survey him with only friendliness. She hated that she couldn't wrap her arms around him right now. She hated the fake smile she had to plaster on her face. She hated that everyday for the past week she'd had to talk to him and look at him like there wasn't this connection between, like they hadn't slept together, like everything was okay the way it was when it was anything but.

"The others need us," Cole said without emotion, sounding remarkably like Maddox.

Ember nodded and forced the fake smile on her face to broaden, to reassure him, and tried not to get irritated when he showed no reaction. His indifference more than piqued her, it wounded. She felt a strong urge to slap him, to try and force him to react like his typical self. His continued distance and apathy left her with a discontent that felt sharp and bitter.

She just missed him. So much.

Especially right now when her past was coming back to haunt her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day and the group was only half a day's journey from Skyhold. The remaining trek to Skyhold was almost three miles and they'd decided to walk to give the horses a much needed rest. Thankfully, they ran into a few scouts who were returning to Skyhold as well and they'd happily agreed to tend to the horses for them.

Varric, Bull, and Cullen were walking a few feet in front of her, deep in conversation, while Cole followed along side her. As they walked in silence, she took the moment to look at him. She looked at the tall leanness of him, at the way his narrow hips moved when he walked.

She looked away from him and they continued walking without speaking, just as they'd been doing since they left the Red Templar stronghold earlier in the day. She shivered once and began to rub her arms, then looked up to see Cole staring down at her. His eyes were like two coals, burning as they looked at her.

She looked away this time, a blush to her cheeks, but she could still feel his gaze directly on her side profile. She was aware of the exaggerated breaths she had to take in now that he was not only next to her but also staring at her, so she attempted to slow them down.

Before today, it had been a week since she'd last spoken to Cole or made eye contact with him. There was always an arm's length between them now. An air of danger, of caution, of remorse. He avoided her like the plague and she let him, despite everything inside of her that screamed for her not too. But she had to. She truly believed that all he needed was time. Time to adjust. Time to grow accustomed to the wash of primal and unknown feelings that were swirling through him, alien and strong.

Cole had somehow designated himself the villain and she hated how he'd managed to get there. He thought he'd hurt her when he hadn't, but was unable to understand the difference. He thought his feelings toward her and the urge to possess made him a demon when it only made him human. She would help him see that he wasn't a villain and help him as best she could on his path to becoming human.

She wouldn't break, but she would bend. Bend because she knew he needed her too. He needed time and space, and she would give him that. Afterward, they wouldn't just return to where they were. They would grow from this, become stronger because of it. She was sure of it. But patience had never been her strong suit.

He'd been the only thing she could think about. She found herself stealing glances out her window any chance she got to watch him help the people of Skyhold. She watched the literal embodiment of compassion put turnips in the fireplaces so the soldier could smell them and think he'd gone home. She watched him leave peeled plums on the windowsills to attract flies for the spiders to eat so that the healers could use their webs to treat infected wounds. He stole bread from the kitchens and threw it on the battlements so that a badly injured solider who was fighting to stay alive until winter saw the birds and knew that it wasn't winter yet. She watched him steal an entire cheese wheel and crushed mint. He used the cheese to attract mice, who then lured the cats. He then used the mint to make the cats dance to amuse the cook so she wasn't yelling at the scullery maids. She watched him pickpocket everyone's daggers and hide them in a barrel, clearly finding them safer in there than on someone's belt.

It warmed her heart to watch him so focused in making this world just that little bit better, one smile at a time. But, sweet Andraste, her heart was aching something awful by allowing him to keep himself away, and something much worse when he was near. She had to constantly remind herself that this forced separation was for the best, but it didn't help how much she missed him. She found herself aching for the slightest touch. She longed for his presence, for the friendly banter, for those heated moments they had shared that were too few and too precious.

And he wasn't helping with the way he watched her. Which he did. Constantly. No matter where she moved she could feel his eyes on her. Every time she ventured to glance in his direction, she found his eyes drilling into her, trying to get into her head. But he always looked away and he never touched her.

It hurt how he treated whatever it was between them like it was wrong, especially since she knew he still felt what she felt. So she wasn't going to give up on him. She wouldn't admit defeat. She wouldn't back down. She wouldn't give up. Maybe, in time, he might come to love her, at least some fraction of the gut-deep, heartsick longing that tied her up in knots. Until then, if he couldn't show her the error of her path and if she was unable forge them ahead, then she would simply take root and refuse to move, like a tree.

Ember shook her head of her thoughts as she walked on the dirt path in the open grass field. She was sweating in her dirty armor and utterly exhausted, her calves beginning to ache. Fortunately, the sun was shining. Ancient oaks bordered the path, daisies dotting the lush green grass beneath the old trees, a change from the ice-covered grounds along the path from Emprise Du Lion. After a few minutes, the copse opened up and she halted when she saw a clearing full of Royal Elfroot, Dawnstone, and apple trees.

"Let's take a quick break," she said and heard mumbles of approval throughout the little group. "But before we leave, I want everyone to gather Royal Elfroot and Dawnstone." She then turned to the five scouts who were holding the reins to their horses. "You five can feed the horses apples from those trees over there. I'll fill my canteen and anyone else's at that river we just passed."

The group nodded and a few of them handed her their empty canteens before they dispersed. The scouts went to the apple trees with the horses while Bull went to sit beneath a tree with Varric while Cullen began collecting Dawnstone. Ember strapped the canteens to her belt before heading back the way they'd came.

After a few minutes she pushed through the brush and worked her way down the cliff overlooking the river to get to the river's edge. Once there, she filled the canteens with cool water from the river. She found herself not in a hurry to get back to the group. Ignoring Cole took a lot out of her.

Ember dropped the canteens to the group and leaned her back against the trunk of a tree on the riverbank. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched the water. The river here was in no hurry. No roar, no raging currents, just a wide bend and a grassy bank. The water was clear and the only place for fish to hide was among the water-crowfoot.

A breeze rustled the leaves on the willow she was leaning against. She suddenly felt his eyes on her, and the connection between them was as strong as it had ever been. She could feel those eyes boring into her and the heat rising from his body, and they were more than ten feet apart.

He came to stand only a few feet in front of her. She continued to stare at the river but inhaled a short, sharp breath and held it as she waited for him to say something. Anything. The intensity of his stare was so strong she could feel it under her skin, calling awake the yearning inside her.

"Do you ever take off your armor and talk to it?" The sound of his voice made her shiver deep inside.

"No," she answered, a small smile tilting her lips.

"It might say something nice."

She watched a fish swim to the surface of the water and eat a water strider. "Do you talk to yours?"

"Sometimes. It doesn't like holes," he said.

She laughed lightly and could almost feel those intense eyes watching her mouth as the sound escaped.

"Can you do that again?" he asked, his voice low and desperate sounding.

She blinked. "Do what?"

"Laugh like that. I really like it," he said with a nervous pause. "I like what it does to me."

For an intense moment neither of them moved. The space between them was filled with a tension so acute she could almost feel it, like a vibration. Her thoughts were random and nebulous, but eventually they merged and came into sharp focus around the night she'd taken him inside of her. For the past week she'd tried to put that night out of her mind, which was like trying to pretend she wasn't alive.

 _Say something_ , she ordered herself frantically, afraid he knew where her thoughts had strayed and would disappear. But it was difficult to think, let alone talk, when he was looking at her like that. There was something akin to buried hunger in that singular focus of his.

She loved it when he looked at her like that. She loved how it made her feel, like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at, how she could see in those hypnotizing blues all the things he couldn't say. But she wanted him to do more than just look, more than just watch her every movement, like a man starved.

She cleared her throat. "Cole… I wanted to tell you that-"

She stopped talking mid-sentence when he disappeared and reappeared right in front of her. Cole narrowed his eyes at her, a hardness on his features as he studied the gash the behemoth had caused that split her eyebrow, caked with dried blood.

"You were slow today. You have many hurts." His voice was despairing and angry, matching his expression. "Please be faster."

Ember felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. For a moment she'd thought he would… but it didn't matter. He wasn't ready to give her what she wanted, and she hated the fear that she couldn't shake that said he never would. She didn't like how it felt like all the good moments she'd had with him were now over. That anything they had up to this point was over. That his distance wasn't about giving him time to grow, but a shutting her out of his life entirely.

Despair and annoyance flared deep inside her. Ember focused her eyes tenaciously on the river to the right of Cole's shoulder, but his attention remained entirely on her. She felt his gaze on her now, the weight of it like a stone.

"Why do you care?" she muttered, making no effort to mask the hurt in her voice, the sound of it brittle and bitter. "From the way you've been acting lately I bet you wouldn't even miss me if something happened to me."

Before she drew her next breath, Cole was leaning into her, making her back arch into the tree bark. He was practically on top of her and she had to crane her neck back to be able to look up at him. Her breath hitched at the severe look on his face as he stared down at her.

"I am a demon." He was so close the last word he said caused the curls framing her face to flutter with his breath. "I'd unleash all of the Fade on someone if anything happened to you."

He pointed to the cut on her eyebrow and spoke with gravel in his voice. "Seeing this…" Eyes of melted ice flitted back and forth between hers. "It… it  _hurts_  me. Like feeling the drag of a blade across my skin, but… more pain."

He stared into her eyes for what seemed a timeless moment. Then, she watched his eyelids lower, a faint flush seep across his cheekbones, his expression becoming hot and soft all at once. His regard was tender with longing, yet raw with hunger, as his gaze roamed her face before sweeping down her body in an almost predatory manner. All the breath seemed to leave her and her heart began to pound.

He knew everything. He knew every dip and curve, every scar and imperfection of her body. He knew her every dream, fear, and deepest confession despite not being able to hear her feelings.

His eyes dragged slowly up her body until they locked with hers again. He lowered his head until the edges of his shaggy hair brushed her forehead, soft strands feeling like teasing caresses. Heat flared through her, causing a throbbing inside her, low but unmistakable, making her mouth go dry and her pulse begin to speed up. He didn't stop until his face was so close to hers their noses brushed. She could feel his breath on her face every time he exhaled, which was coming faster and deeper. There was scant space between them, his body nearly pressed against hers, his heat slipping inside her skin, teasing her with memories of what it felt like to be enveloped in his embrace, that hot, hard body pressed along every inch of her, slick with sweat from making her his.

" _Dear heart_ ," he uttered, painfully, as if he was remembering too.

Never in all her life had she ever wanted something as much as she wanted him to touch her right then. He  _had_  to touch her. She wanted it so bad it physically hurt. The walls of her chest felt as if they were closing in on her heart, in desperate need of relief.

His expression was full of conflict, as though he were waging an internal war within himself over something. She could do nothing but watch him try to fight the war within himself. But then his expression shifted to something akin to defeat.

She saw the roll of his throat as he swallowed before he moved his hand closer to her and his fingertips brushed hers. She heard a small sigh crossed with a groan escape his lips the moment his skin touched hers. There was so much torment laced with relief in that single sound.

Maker help her, this felt so good. His breath falling hot and heavy against her face felt good, his closeness felt good, his skin on hers made her feel an overwhelming feeling of completeness, and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how something that felt like this could be so wrong to him.

She swallowed, trying to hold back the onslaught of emotions threatening to overtake her. "It's been so hard seeing you and not being able to touch you," she confessed, her tone softened by the sweeping relief she felt of having him touching her. "I'm trying to be patient and understanding, but it's been hell. It's been so easy for you to keep distance between us. But it hasn't been easy for me. It's all I think about. I can't take it anymore. I feel like I'm going crazy."

"You think this is easy for me?" he grated.

Because she found it hard to breath, her voice came out in a whisper. "Well, that's how you make it seem."

But even as she said the words she knew they were wrong because his expression was such a jumbled mixture of pain, sadness, and sorrow that it was heartbreaking to look at. He was roiling inside, and she was the cause of it. The realization hit her in a wave of despondency.

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly.

Those haunted eyes locked with hers, and she'd never seen more emotions flash through them than in that moment. "I'm sorry, too. For everything."

Before she could say another word, his features seemed to tighten and close off from her into stoniness. She hated that look. She didn't want him to regret touching her.

Cole stood straight and stepped back from her, his fingers falling away from hers, taking his touch and her breath with him.

A crushing feeling of rejection hit her. For a moment, it had felt like they were back where they belonged. Now, seconds later, there was that dreaded arm's length between them. It made her feel like weeping.

Her emotions must've shown on her face because Cole's eyes were searching hers frantically, desperately trying to get across whatever it was he wished he could say. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but then he closed it again. He looked torn to pieces by misery and it made her hurt for him. Seeing him torn like this was more pain than she was willing to endure. She wanted to mend him, to heal his hurt just like he always did hers and everyone else's.

Her voice cracked and broke when she spoke, "Spirit, demon, human, ghost… it doesn't matter. You're Cole. Just Cole." She gave him a watery smile. " _My_  Cole." She paused, drawing in a sharp breath. "We can make this work. I know we can. If you'd only just let us."

Ember forced herself to turn away and collect the canteens on the ground. She stood and felt his eyes follow her as she moved past him quickly, moving as fast as she could without running until she returned to the others. She didn't want Cole to see what his continued rejection and distance was doing to her.

"Let's head out," she said, and even to her ears she sounded depressed.

The Inquisitor silently moved ahead of them to return to the path that would lead them to Skyhold. A half hour later and Cullen had replaced Ember as the head of the group, while Ember had fallen back to trail behind. Her spirits were so low they resembled more of a walking corpse. At the front the Commander was speaking to Varric. The scouts pulling the horses were right behind them, and then Cole. Pulling the rear was Ember and Bull. But Bull had obviously grown tired of her foul mood because he rushed forward to walk alongside Cole.

"So Cole, you're polite, you're good in a fight, and your heart's in the right place," Bull said pleasantly to the rogue walking beside him.

"It is? Good."

Bull laughed and then smirked wickedly at Cole. "I've got a plan. I think this could get you sorted out, get both feet on the ground."

Cole's head turned to look up at the Qunari. "I have to lift my feet, or the rocks make noise when I walk."

Bull chuckled, his eye gleaming mischievously. "Yes… when we get back, you're going to spend an evening with a nice lady named Candy."

Ember's red head snapped up to stare at Bull's back, her heart tightening into a fist.  _Candy?_ Her throat worked against the lump that had lodged itself painfully in her airway and she studiously ignored the lance of pain that shot into her heart as thoughts tumbled through her mind unchecked.

"Can I lift my feet?" Cole asked.

"She's gonna lift a lot more than that," Bull replied impishly.

Ember drew in a stuttered gasp, her insides tightening even more. Her mouth was too dry. Her chest too constricted. An ugliness reared up inside her. Swelled around her body like a dark compressing mass. Bull was going to take Cole to a whore! A whore!

Ember considered herself a tolerant person, yet the thought of some floozy all over Cole made her livid. The more she thought about it, the more emotions seemed to flit through her mind, harassing her with angry, murderous, and self-deprecating thoughts. She tried to suppress them as best she could, but still some crept in. Jealous murmurs caressed and cut, filling her head with imagined scenarios that made her clench the hilts of her daggers until her fingers ached, though she didn't remember unsheathing her daggers in the first place.

Maker's breath! She'd never been so angry and jealous as she was in that moment. Candy? Candy?! Really? What kind of a name was Candy anyway?

 _What kind of a name is Ember?_  A tiny voice jeered in her head.

Ember frowned. Cole liked candy. It was one of the few things he ate. Maybe he'd like a woman named after a tasty, delicious treat as opposed to one named after a burning piece of coal.

A calmness washed over her, lapping against her like soothing waves. Within minutes she felt a sense of ease settling over the jagged thorns of jealousy inside her like a blanket. Ember quickly shook herself. Why was she letting this get to her? Cole wouldn't see a whore. What had she been thinking? She had nothing to worry about. It's not like he would actually have sex with a whor-

"Alright," Cole answered Bull casually.

Her breath left her in a rush. He couldn't have hurt her more if he'd taken a knife to her body. Ember's legs turned to stone and she stopped walking, though the others didn't even notice. She stared at the ground in front of her, her vision blurred, her fist clenched over her heart, as if she could ward off the searing pain that knotted her vitals.

Cole was going to have sex with another woman. Tonight.

Though her legs felt leaden, she forced herself to move forward. No one could see her like this. They would think there was something wrong. They might even want to know why. She had to appear normal. Tears began to well in her eyes, and she had to inhale a calming breath. Her mind blanked of everything but two words, which she chanted internally like a deranged, hysterical mantra.

_Don't cry._

_Don't cry._

_Don't cry._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You know," Bull scowled as he stared at her in the middle of the training grounds at Skyhold. "If you're not going to put up a fight, I might as well go and get Cassandra to hit me with a stick."

Running an arm across her forehead, Ember openly glared back at the massive Qunari, furious with him for setting Cole up with a whore. But she needed to fight to work through the jealousy boiling within her, and if she had to hit anyone she wanted it to be him.

"What's that suppose to mean?" she snapped.

Bull crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You're off today. What's bothering you, boss?"

Wanting to hit him over and over again for what he did, her fist quickly flew towards him causing him to stumble back in order to avoid the hit.

Grinning, Bull lifted his hands back into a fighting stance. "You don't have to have a hissy-fit about it. I'm just curious."

Ember dodged his uppercut and spun from his jab, but a moment later and Bull landed a hard hit to her jaw.

Bull shook his head with disappointment. "Okay, seriously, what's bothering you, boss?"

"Nothing's bothering me," she gritted as a warning to drop the subject.

Bull moved quick and landed a devastating blow to her cheek. She staggered back. Bull swung a fist in her direction. She leaned back, causing him to hit only air, then moved in with a jab. Bull easily avoided the halfhearted punch with a frustrated growl.

"Enough!" Bull shouted, annoyed. "I don't know what's twisting your panties, but get it together!"

She spat blood out of her mouth and marched up to him, glaring. "What's your problem?!"

He gestured furiously with his hand. "You keep hesitating and you're about a half-second slow in all your moves. What's bothering you?"

"There's nothing," she snapped. "Drop it already."

His eye rolled. "Whatever."

Ember cursed under her breath and began circling around the gigantic Tal-Vashoth, feinting a couple of times. Bull struck out with a fist, but she evaded. Bull came at her, his fists connecting with her body in a flurry of blows. Ember kept her elbows in tight to her body to protect her sides, but that left her face free. Bull took the opening and his fist landed hard against her cheek, sending her flying across the training grounds. She hit the ground hard, her body skidding to a halt in the dirt. She winced, her face and ribs aching.

Bull sighed as he approached her. "Can you walk, boss?" Bull asked standing over her, offering her his hand.

"Since I was two," she grumbled as she took his proffered hand and pulled herself to her feet. She sagged a little, and Bull steadied her.

"So, who is it?" he asked gently.

She wiped the blood from her lip. "What do you mean?"

"The one that's on your mind," he clarified. "The one who has you so distracted."

She remained silent. No one needed to know that Cole had rented a space inside her head and in her heart. And there he would always remain.

"It's me, isn't it?" Bull sighed, as if everything made sense now. "You should have just come right out and admitted it. I could have had you in my bed this entire time, giving you the greatest lay of your life."

She glowered at him. "No way in hell."

He smirked. "Oh, come on. It'd be fun. We both could use a good screw right about now."

"I don't want to sleep with you."

Bull's smirk deepened. "You wouldn't be doing any sleeping. Not while I was around."

Her eyes rolled. "Pass."

Something over her shoulder caught Bull's attention. "Catch ya later, boss. I gotta go get the Kid laid."

The Qunari rushed passed her, but his words were an icy weight that had dropped like a stone into her stomach. Her limbs felt weighed down and uncoordinated, as though her neurons had frazzled and the entirety of her system was shutting down.

Moments later and Ember was stealthily following behind the massive Qunari as he steered Cole across the grounds of Skyhold. The sun was nearly set now, the encroaching darkness making it easier for her to remain hidden.

Bull and Cole turned a corner, heading toward the stables. Ember walked behind them on the balls of her feet, making no sound as she did so. They turned sharply to the right to come to a stop in front of a door. Ember's eyes widened and she did the only thing that made sense to her. The Inquisitor immediately ducked behind the nearest something, not wanting to be caught snooping, feeling extremely self-conscious and flustered.

"Would you like to see my sale on daggers today, Inquisitor?" Bonny Sims questioned in her thick Orlesian accent.

Ember looked up at her from where she was squatted down and hidden behind the stall, and whispered, "Umm, yes… wait, no. No that's alright, I'll… uhh, just keep looking at this… ugh… hat."

Bonny's mask-covered face tilted in question as Ember absently tried on the hat, her eyes never leaving Bull who was knocking on the door with Cole standing beside him.

"That is a duster, Inquisitor. I use it to clean the stall."

Ember blushed, realizing she was wearing that duster on her head like a hat. "Oh… well, it's, uhh, very lovely. For a, umm, duster."

Embarrassed, Ember put the duster down and cautiously peeked out from behind the stall to see the door swing open to reveal a stunningly gorgeous brunette with a voluptuous feminine figure, chocolate brown eyes, and a full pouty mouth.

A sense of anxiety flooded through Ember's veins, tensing her muscles, as she watched the woman ignore Bull completely as he spoke to her in a voice that Ember couldn't hear, those brown eyes running slowly over every inch of Cole's body, as if she were planning on having him for dinner.

Ember swallowed, and rubbed her sweaty palms up and down the sides of her pants as she watched the woman, who had to be Candy, step into Cole and lean against him in the most intimate way, her full lips forming words that Ember knew were charming and seductive.

Ember remained squatted down behind the stall, absolutely still, unable to tear her eyes from the scene unfolding before her. Candy's hand lifted and splayed flat on Cole's chest and a poison-like sensation of jealousy carved a path straight to her heart. The Inquisitor instantly wanted to cut that hand from her body.

The woman's hand closed on the material of Cole's armor and then she was dragging him into what had to be her bedroom, closing the door behind them. Bull just laughed before walking away, while Ember's world crashed to dust at her feet.

A knife of jealousy ripped through her as she stared at the closed door. The fierceness of her jealousy frightened her. She'd never known an emotion to poison her this way. She didn't understand. She didn't understand why he was doing this. Did Cole just not understand that when you were in a relationship with someone you didn't sleep with other people? But that made her think about whether they were in a relationship or not. Maybe he didn't think so. Maybe that's why he could sleep with someone else. Maybe with her he learned that he liked something, but just didn't want to have it with her again. Maybe he just wanted someone else, see what it was like with someone different.

With an odd hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach, Ember's head rolled to the side and she shut her eyes tightly. There was no doubt in her mind what they were doing behind that closed door. She wanted to stop it. She wanted to kick the door down and drag him back to her room. But what good would that do? She would just embarrass herself, especially if he  _wanted_  to be there, which he obviously did. Who was she to stop him from being with someone else? They'd never talked about exclusivity, though for the life of her she never thought they needed  _that_ conversation, not when it was so clear that they were meant to be together. Maybe it was just clear to her. Maybe she was imagining things, seeing only what she wanted to see.

She closed her eyes tighter as a deep melancholy settled over her. A tear rolled down her face, and she swiped at it angrily. She numbly pushed the pain down to where she could function. It was simply too fresh to deal with properly right now.

She stood and took a few halting, unsteady steps backward, the iron-cold reality of the situation making her head swim. She spun on the balls of her feet, red curls whipping about her face as she twisted around so quickly the world blurred.

Somehow she found her way to her horse, Tadwinks. The moment she escaped Skyhold, Ember bent low over the mare's white neck, her bright red curls streaming like fire behind her as she tore across the snow-covered fields that surrounded Skyhold, not sure when she'd return.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Bloodstream_  by Stateless. This chapter is based on an in-game banter between Cole and Iron Bull. Also, this chapter starts with a fight scene that was inspired by a Dragon Age Origins Sacred Ashes Trailer. 


	20. Leliana's Song

_At Shartan's word, the sky_

_Grew black with arrows_

_At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords_

_Rang from their sheaths_

_A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:_

_Those who had been slaves were now free_

_\- Shartan 10:1, Dissonant Verse_

A massive pile of blood-red curls were twisted and tangled over crisp white sheets, the pristine white a sharp contrast with the deep, dark crimson. The head beneath all those curls lifted, chin resting on a white pillow. Sorrowful eyes of the coolest shade of blue mixed with a vibrant shade of green stared into one of the tall, narrow windows set high in the walls of her bedchamber. A dim shaft of sunlight pierced the dusty windowpane, and she watched as bits of dust caught in the sunlight as they flittered about her room.

There were meetings she needed to attend, reports to be read, and training to be done, but she was unable to rise from her bed and she didn't plan on rising anytime soon. Yesterday she'd ridden Tadwinks as hard as she could. She'd contemplated not returning. But she saw the mark on her left hand and knew she had to return. Her life didn't matter in this fight. This fight only wanted her power, her magic, her blood, and most likely her death. Her heart was irrelevant. It's breaking immaterial.

Right now, her heart was fragile, her mind unable to halt a creeping sense of melancholy and isolation. It seemed to permeate her very soul, bringing her spirits so low as to become utterly oppressive. She was as dismal as ever. She hadn't felt this low since she'd left the dungeons of the White Spire five years ago – eighteen, an apostate, with a bleeding heart.

Blood. Why was she always bleeding it? Why did the world want to take so much of it from her? Didn't it know that she would run out one day? She could only bleed so much before she had nothing left.

So deep in her depressive thoughts was she that she didn't hear them enter her quarters. She jumped slightly when someone jumped onto her bed.

"Rise and shine, Inky!" Sera chirped happily with an annoying amount of energy.

Trying to block out all the good cheer that poured out of the teenager's voice, Ember covered her head with a pillow, feeling very much three and twenty, but it quickly got ripped away. Ember reached over her shoulder blindly for it, and got smacked on the side of the head.

"Wake up, Her Gracious Ladybits!" Sera sang while rolling around on her bed.

Ember dropped her face into her sheets and mumbled, "Please, stop making sounds with your mouth."

"Do you have any idea what time it is, sweeting?" she heard Leliana chastise somewhere behind her.

"No, and I don't want to know either," Ember groaned, and buried her face into her only remaining pillow while Sera bounced on the bed beside her.

"Come on, Inky," Sera whined. "It's game night! You've never gone to one, not a single one. You're gonna go to this one!"

Game night? Oh, hell no. She couldn't go to the Herald's Rest. What if she saw Cole? She shuddered to think of it. She couldn't pretend everything was fine, not with him. Those eyes saw too much and that mouth had no filter on it. She really didn't want to hear about his night with Candy. Bull would ask about it, she was sure of it.

Ember turned her head to the side to face Sera, and mustered a firm tone, "I'm not going anywhere."

Josie appeared on the side of her bed beside Sera and tsked her. "Would this have anything to do with a certain tall, blonde, handsome Commander?"

Ember gaped. "What?"

Leliana giggled as she stepped next to Josie. "Oh, please don't act all innocent. It was Cullen you were asking all those sex questions about, no?"

Sera snorted. "Hope he took you right up the Dales."

Ember groaned and pressed her face into her pillow again. "I'm not going," she said into her pillow.

"But Leliana's gonna sing tonight!  _Sing_!" Sera squealed with excitement. "You can't miss that, Inky!"

"Not to mention every ally we have will be there to witness our very own spy master," Josie added. "The people say she sings like an angel."

"Oh, get off it," Sera chortled. "You just wanna go because Blackwall left you and you need a new footstone to polish."

"He didn't just leave me," Josie shot back, flushed with anger, her ire apparent. "He left the Inquisition. We have no idea where he went or why!"

"We'll find him, Josie," Leliana said lightly with a gentle touch to Josie's arm. "I have my agents on it."

Josie's ire fell from her lovely face to show her lingering heartbreak as she touched her friend's hand, needing the comfort and support.

"Who gives a shite about ol' bushy beard," Sera cackled. "I wanna hear how the uppity Commander plucked the Inquisitor's cherry!"

"I'm not going," Ember sighed and rolled onto her back and tried to pull the covers back over her head but they got yanked away.

"Come on, Inky! Tell us all about it! Does frowny face shout 'by the order' when he comes?" The elf giggled, looking down at her.

Ember glared. "I'm not going!"

"Well, aren't ya a big frickin ray of sunshine," Sera grumbled with a huff.

Ember caught the scent of Sera's breath and waved a hand in front of her nose. "Whew, it smells like someone's already been drinking."

The elf winked at her. "The night's only just begun, Inky."

Ember rolled over. "Well, I'm not going."

"Aww, come on!" Sera groaned. "I need my partner in crime, ya? And everyone's gonna be there!"

"No," Ember growled.

The elf got out of the bed, stomped around it, and put her face right in front of Ember's, scowling. "If you don't get your skinny arse out of this bed right now, I'm gonna throw bees at your head!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Despite the very loud complaining from the others, Ember wore her superior hunter armor to the tavern with black leather boots that reached her knees, black hide pants, ring-velvet cloth that covered her arms and wrapped around her torso, and a matching black cropped jacket. She couldn't help but feel self-conscious as she exited the keep with Sera on one side and Josie on the other.

The archer looked cute and spunky in a sleeveless pale pink top that hugged her every curve, black tights, and bulky boots.

Josie looked stunningly gorgeous with her flawless olive-skin, her light gray eyes heavily kohled, her lips dark red, and her ebony black hair wrapped in a perfect up-do. She had a figure that every woman dreamed of with voluptuous curves in all the right places and a bust so generous that Ember would have thought it nearly impossible for the woman to stand upright. She wore an expensive-looking deep gold skirt that flared out and reached the floor, ankle boots with heels, gold jewels everywhere, and an emerald-colored top that left little to the imagination.

Josie was clearly wearing that outfit to attract attention. It was obvious the ambassador was hurt from Blackwall's desertion and wanted to forget him in someone else. Looking like that the woman wouldn't have any problem finding a replacement.

Ember wasn't a self-conscious person and didn't give a fig about her looks, but being sandwiched between these two women was definitely giving her self-deprecating thoughts. She was uncomfortably aware of her own lack of femininity and sensuality.

She'd never been beautiful or feminine. Boys had never sweet-talked her, always opting for the prettier girl in the room. Her face was too plain and too angular, her eyes too large for her face, her body built like a boy's, her hair color and freckles more striking than pretty. Not to mention she was a very guarded person due to living the life of an apostate since she was eight-years-old. But she was strong, her will that of steel, and not even the crack of a whip could break her spirit, despite the many she'd taken in her life.

That strength settled her nerves and warmed her, giving her eyes a kind of sparkle reserved for the stars, and an inner fire that not even a dragon could muster. If strength was beautiful, then she was Andraste herself.

Summoning an air of confidence Ember certainly didn't feel, she matched the two pretty women stride for stride as they made their way out of the keep and across the lawn to the Herald's Rest where a Qunari guard was standing due to the special event happening that night.

The massive Qunari male didn't recognize them, which wasn't a surprise as few did. Sensing the guard's reluctance to let them in, Josie leaned forward a little, sticking out her ample chest. The Antivan exuded an air of sensuality that was irresistible, from the lush fullness of her lips to the sensual look in her grey eyes that fluttered prettily.

"I think you should let in the Inquisition's Ambassador, no?" Josie said in a low, husky voice.

The Qunari bouncer made eye contact with Josie's barely covered breasts and told them, "Sure, you're in."

She winked at him and he let them in.

Ember mouthed a "thank you" to Josie for her indiscretion, not wanting to be recognized as the Herald of Andraste. Josie smiled back and Ember followed Josie and Sera as they walked through the front door into the sea of bodies taking up every inch of the full tavern.

Ember paused at the threshold of the tavern as Josie strolled into the room with a seductive sway to her hips, as if she owned it, and Sera bounced in on the balls of her feet, as if she couldn't wait to cause trouble.

It was dark. The tavern was dimly lit with ceiling chandeliers and candles on the walls and tables, the low lighting deadening the senses to better the flow of coin from pockets and purses. The air was heavy with smoke, alcohol, and tobacco. Maker, it was loud. A bard was playing her lute, but the sound could barely be heard over the idle chatter, joking, fighting, and laughing coming from the hundreds of people jam-packed into the three-story tavern.

Ember looked around at all the people in the room and felt as if she'd swallowed a belly full of ice. Everywhere she looked people were with drinks in hand, talking and laughing in pairs or in groups. The room was too packed and too loud. It was stuffy too, with not enough air for everyone in the room.

The whole thing was starting to give her a headache. To be honest, it didn't look like fun. It looked dangerous. A knife could be jabbed into a pair of ribs without anyone noticing. It was the perfect place for an assassin. Or an ambush of templars. It made her hackles rise instead of feeling like fun. But everyone else, however, seemed to be having fun.

 _Does that make me a freak?_ she thought.  _Or just a mage still used to the life of an apostate?_

Ember felt sick and had the idiotic impulse to turn and run. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, but that was all she could do. She didn't step into the tavern. She was paralyzed in the doorway and the Qunari guard was getting annoyed with her.

As if sensing her uncertainty, Sera drew an arm around her shoulders. Ember exhaled slowly and then gave Sera a false smile. The elf grinned back and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the room, the door closing behind them.

A young mage by the massive fireplace stared as she walked by. Ember smiled at her. "Your Worship," the girl muttered before quickly averting her eyes. That was the response Ember typically got from people that recognized her. At least it meant that they left her alone.

Sera led Ember to a large table in the corner of the room on the first floor by the bar that was pressed up against the wall.

"Well now! When did you get here, Inquisitor?" Dorian inquired merrily, his cheeks already flushed with drink, and Josie took the seat beside him.

Ember's lips quirked. "When I walked through the door."

Dorian's eyes rolled. "Smartass."

"You're late," Cullen scolded Ember playfully as he walked up behind her with a bottle of wine and a glass in his hand.

"Told you so," Bull muttered from his place at the table. "Now, pay up, Curly."

Cullen grumbled as he set his glass down and reached into his pocket and slapped a few coins in the Qunari's hand.

"Finally, now we can get this game started," Cassandra grumbled in irritation from the seat beside Varric.

"It's friggin loud in here, yeah?" Sera grimaced as she tossed her muddy feet up onto the table.

Cullen sat down, smiling at Ember, and pointed at the chair beside him. "Are you going to be joining us, Inquisitor?" he asked eagerly with a broad grin, his eyes filled with hope.

"I'm not sure yet," Ember replied uneasily.

"The more the merrier, your Inquisitorialness," Varric added as he sat down at the end of the table with the cards in his hands, winking at her.

"Alright," Ember said nervously before taking the only available chair left, which was right beside Cullen.

All of her companions and advisors were there, except for Solas, Vivienne, and Blackwall. Ember nervously scanned the crowd for Cole, not sure what she would do if she saw him. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be with Candy. The name was like a dagger to the heart. Her eyes scanned the crowd. There were hundreds of people here, and all but a handful were strangers to her. But she didn't see Cole anywhere. She couldn't tell if she was happy or sad that he wasn't there.

The serving girl Beth with the chestnut tresses and hazel eyes arrived at their table with drinks and Varric clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone drink up!" he cheered. "The first round is on me!"

"Oooh, then I hope you won't mind if I get myself a nice bit of Antivan wine," Josie chimed in.

"That shit's horse piss," Bull grumbled to her. "What you want is Par Vollen whiskey. Kicks like a donkey on its way down, but hot damn it will kick you on your ass."

"So how about a quick round to warm up first?" Varric asked, ushering Beth to serve the drinks. "I'll go easy on you guys."

"Especially the Inquisitor, since this is her first time and all. Everyone knows you gotta go easy on a virgin," Bull said with a wink.

"Hell with easy," Sera shouted while slamming her drink down before pointing an accusatory finger at Varric. "I wanna take back what ya owe me, dickbag!"

Varric's eyebrow rose. "My dear Buttercup, I accept your challenge, though may I remind you that I won your money fair and square."

"Fair and square my arse!" the elf shouted at the drawf.

Cassandra snorted. "Don't worry about what Sera thinks, Varric, she doesn't do it very often."

The elf threw her mug at the Seeker, but she dodged it. "Shove it!"

As Varric shuffled the cards he looked up at Ember. "I'm glad you could make it, Red. To be honest, we all wanted to see what 'her worship' looks like with her hair down."

"And her chin covered in vomit," Dorian chimed in with a raise of his glass to her.

Ember's red eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"To see what kind of drunk you are!" Josie laughed prettily.

"To see what we can get you to do," Cassandra smiled evilly.

"But most importantly, to loosen your tongue," Bull finished with a wicked grin as he pushed a mug of Par Vollen whiskey toward her. Ember wrinkled her nose at it.

"Here, have some of mine," Cullen smiled, offering his glass of wine to her. "I promise you'll like it." His voice was like warm honey.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Josie drawled flirtatiously, leaning across the table to show off even more of her bosom than usual. Ember couldn't help but wonder if Cullen was on the ambassador's list of possible candidates to replace Blackwall.

"Jokes? From Josie? A special occasion, indeed," Cullen laughed with a friendly smile.

"A special occasion would be two women at once, no?" Josie shot back with a lifted eyebrow.

"Hot damn! I think we should get Lady Ambassador drunk more often!" Bull exclaimed.

"Josephine jokes all the time. It's just that she's not funny," Cassandra stated indifferently, and winced when Josie bounced a saltshaker off her shoulder.

As Varric dealt everyone in one by one, Ember couldn't help but let her eyes scan the crowd again. But she didn't see a shaggy blonde head or startling blue eyes. Was he with Candy? Were they in her bed right now? That knife slid a little bit more between her ribs.

"Are you alright?" she heard Cullen ask with concern beside her.

Ember looked at him and plastered a fake smile on her face hoping it covered up her heartache. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Cullen's hand touched her arm that was resting on the table. "You need to unwind. Relax yourself."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "What the Commander means is that you should get drunk," he translated.

"You have been kinda down lately," Bull added. "Don't worry. Alcohol will fix that."

Grabbing Cullen's wineglass, Ember shot it back and felt the expected warmth flood through her. She knew it was a false comfort, one that would leave her feeling just as low as before when it was over. But she needed it right now.

"You're up, Inquisitor," Varric said.

"Oh. How many points do I get for blank card?" Ember asked, clueless.

"You don't get points in Wicked Grace – and you shouldn't even have a blank card!" Varric's head slammed into his hands in despair.

Nearly an hour later, Sera was shrieking, "Gimme, gimme, gimme!" The elf's eyes were glazed. "Oh, come on, dwarf. I got no more money. You got all those little stacks. Gimme some a yours. Gimme!" Sera screeched.

"Oooh… desperation… now there's a scent I like on a woman," Bull said with a smirk.

"How about the scent of leather?" Dorian chimed in, his speech heavily slurred.

"Now you're just being kinky," Bull garbled.

"You know… you two are weird ones," Cassandra muttered.

Dorian shrugged with a smile. "Normality is overrated. As are ball gags."

Ember laughed despite herself. "Seriously, is there room for anything else between your ears besides thoughts of lechery?"

Bull's one eye followed after a red-haired elf with a very short dress. "Gotta go hit that," he muttered before standing, stumbling slightly, and stalking after the red-haired elf into the kitchens.

Ember snorted. "I guess that answers my question."

"I gotta go shake some dew off the lily," Sera burped as she stood on unsteady legs.

"That sounds delightful," Dorian deadpanned, looking disgusted.

Minutes later, Sera came swaggering up to Ember. "Gonna dance. You in, Inky?"

Ember answered honestly, "I don't know how to dance."

Josie raised an eyebrow. "Are you a woman?"

Ember blinked. "Yes."

"Then you know how to dance. Come on."

Sera took Josie's and Ember's hands and began pulling them through the crowd of people. Three nobles were ogling Josie as she sauntered onto the dance floor. Were they staring heatedly at the ambassador because of how low cut her top was? Or was it because of the way she gently swayed her hips to the music the bard played?

Josie stopped in front of the bard, letting go of Ember's hand. Ember studied Josie closely, trying to follow her moves, as she began to sway her hips in a sensual figure eight motion, running her hands up and down her sides, moving slowly and making it look like touching her self was the most wonderful feeling she'd ever had.

Josie turned to the side and began to undulate in a slow body ripple starting at her head, then chest, then stomach, then finally her pelvis that moved in a wave-like motion. She let her fingers sink into her raven-black hair that was piled on top of her head as she danced. The woman exuded sex appeal and seemed to attract every man, and every woman for that matter, that caught a glimpse of her.

"How do you do that?" Ember asked in awe.

"Do what, Inquisitor?"

"Move like that."

"Move like what?"

Ember gestured to all of her. "All… wavy like."

Josie giggled. " _You_  can move like that."

Ember shook her head emphatically. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can. All women can be a seductive goddess."

"Righttt," Ember drawled disbelievingly.

Josie swayed her hips, dragging a hand across her flat stomach. "It's purely instinctual. It's the power of our gender."

"Okay… that's my cue." Ember turned to leave.

Josie looked stunned. "Where are you going?"

Ember called over her shoulder, "To sit down for a bit."

"Stinker," Sera shouted at her retreating back with a frown before she sashayed towards the bard and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she started dancing in front of the bard while she played. Obviously, the bard was the archer's soon-to-be lover for the night.

Ember walked away and sat at the large table where the others were still playing cards, but she declined to play. She placed her chin in her palm and surveyed the room. The smell of wood burning and meat roasting drifted up to greet her along with the sound of logs popping in the heat of a fire across from her. The music, laughter, and sounds of merriment were nice to hear, especially during these troubling times. She was glad they were doing this. The people needed a night to just live their lives. But she was so pathetically miserable and she hated it. She didn't want everyone around her to feel how miserable she was and ruin their night. Maybe she could slip out and no one would notice.

"If you keep frowning like that, you're going to have major frown lines," she heard Cullen say as he took the seat beside her.

She looked up at him with mock irritation. "Thanks. I needed that reminder. Why don't you just squirt lemon juice in my eye while you're at it?"

He laughed, the sound rich like molten chocolate, the scar on his lip making him looked even more attractive. She noticed then that he wasn't wearing his typical armor. He wore an expensive looking light green tunic with sleeves and loose brown pants. He looked… well, the entire room was staring at him with lust in their eyes.

He was asking her something, she realized, though she didn't know what.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly. "I just got a little lost in my thoughts."

"Thinking about me?" Cullen asked the question as more of a statement with a winning smile that could melt a woman's heart.

Ember replied with a smile. This time, it was not forced.

Cullen drained the last of his wine and a pretty, half-dressed serving girl appeared at the table almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting for him to finish.

"What'll it be, handsome?" The serving girl asked Cullen with a wink and a sultry smile on her pink lips.

Cullen gave her a disarming smile. "Another bottle, please. And an extra glass for the Inquisitor."

The serving girl sensually bit her bottom lip as her eyes grazed over the Commander appreciatively. "You got it," she said in a sweet voice before taking his glass and empty bottle away to fetch another one.

Ember scoffed at the woman.

_And another one bites the dust._

"She's not my type," Cullen told Ember with a knowing smile.

Ember tilted her head. "What is your type?" she asked, curious.

Cullen's eyes gleamed as he leaned towards her, a charming smile on his mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said in a velvety voice, the light stubble on his face making him appear rugged and very manly.

The serving girl returned with the bottle of wine and two wine glasses. After a few sips of the wine, Ember let her finger run around the rim of her glass, her eyes lifting to Cullen's. "If I'd ever pictured you having a type, Josie would fit it perfectly – smart, sophisticated, tall, slim, refined, and knockout gorgeous."

"Hmm," he mused as he watched her finger circle the rim of her glass, as if he was thinking on what she'd said and found it interesting.

Ember attempted to make conversation with Cullen, but every five minutes some woman with legs that went on for days would come along and interrupt them. He didn't seem to care. He would just sit there offering them polite smiles and one-worded responses until they left.

Half an hour later - after they'd spent thirty minutes talking, laughing, and drinking - Ember giggled until she fell out of her chair. Cullen burst out laughing causing wine to spray from his mouth all over their table.

"Up you go," Cullen said in a singsong voice as he stumbled in helping the giggling drunk Inquisitor off the floor and back into her chair, their excessive drinking taking its toll. Ember's cheeks were as red as her hair from the alcohol and her giggling fit as she was plopped back into her chair.

"Another bottle!" Cullen called out to serving girl with a sweep of his hand that knocked over their empty glasses on the table.

"Alright, alright, it's my turn," Ember slurred after collecting herself somewhat and pointed a swaying finger at her other drinking partner. "Alright, Dorian, what's your favorite robes?"

Dorian laughed. "That's easy! The purple ones with the golden lining. Does wonders for the figure, wouldn't you agree?"

Ember laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "You mean the ones that make you look like a tulip?"

Dorian put on a face of mock offense. "I'll have you know, my dear, that those robes have caused an eye or two to turn in my day."

The cherry-haired woman smiled. "Oh, of that I have no doubt."

Dorian's attention was caught by a heartstoppingly gorgeous young man with raven black hair and dark green eyes. "My, my, my… what have we here?" he murmured with blatant desire in his eyes that followed after the young man. "Why don't I…"

"Go get him," Ember chuckled as she shoved Dorian out of his seat and towards the young man. "Give him that famous Minrathit… Minratham… Minrathtits charm," Ember hiccupped.

"Did you just say 'tits'?" Dorian laughed. "You are drunk, Inquisitor!"

Ember snorted. "The Inquisitor doesn't get drunk, she just has fun."

Dorian smiled before hurrying after the young man while Ember laughed with Cullen.

Ember briefly looked at the graveyard of empty glasses in front of her before setting another drink down on the table. As she ran her finger along the wet rim of her glass, she had to admit that she felt better than she had when she woke up. Not happy, per say, but nice and… insensitive. Anesthetized. Numb.

"Can I ask you something?" Ember ventured once Cullen had turned away yet another woman.

Cullen returned his eyes to hers and smirked, looking more than a little drunk. "I don't know, can you?"

Ember fought the smile that threatened to form. "Don't get cute."

An appealing grin adorned those too-handsome features. "Get cute? I thought I already was."

Her eyes widened at his blatant flirting and his boldness. "Who are you and what have you done with Cullen?"

"Liquid courage, I guess." Cullen rested his chin on his knuckles as he studied her. "You aren't like the rest of the women I know."

Ember looked down at the glass in her hand, her cheeks burning. Drops of water slid down the surface of the glass and the glass reflected and distorted the candle light from the room.

"You're especially pretty when you're blushing."

"What?" Ember stammered as she looked up at him.

Cullen was grinning at her like the Cheshire cat. "If beauty were time, you'd be eternity."

Ember blinked. "Oh. That's… umm… that's very… huh."

"Yeah, I know." Cullen laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "What do you want from me? I don't have anything prepared."

Cullen flashed her another winsome smile, and she found herself smiling back.

"Here you go, loves," the serving girl said as she placed a new bottle of wine in front of her and Cullen, and Ember thanked her.

"Alright, my turn. Favorite color?" Asked Cullen as he took a gulp of the drink in his hand, returning to the game they'd been playing with Dorian.

Ember's smile faltered. "Blue," she sighed wistfully, her eyes flicking away. "Blue like melted ice, with specks of white like winter snowflakes."

Cullen's face contorted with confusion. "That's very specific."

Ember forced a smile as she sipped her drink. "What about you?"

Cullen looked at her and smiled charmingly as he answered in a low voice, "Aquamarine." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "Green like malachite mixed with sapphire blue."

Ember's cheeks warmed. "That's… very specific."

"It's my favorite color," he answered smoothly with that charming smile. "Though I'm also very fond of red," he added as a finger wrapped around a russet curl resting against her cheek.

"You're very good at making a woman feel special, you know?"

"Not sure why." He shrugged, his finger still wrapped in her hair. "I've never been very good with women."

She blinked, surprised. "Really?"

The blonde nodded, embarrassed, his grin slipping. "The few women that I've… it's never me they want," he answered dejectedly before pulling his hand away and staring glumly into his wine glass.

Ember bit her lip and stared into her wine glass too.

"You need another drink, handsome?" Beth, the serving girl asked Cullen with a bat of her lashes.

"Sure," Cullen answered with a polite smile. "And a slice of your famous chocolate cake for the Inquisitor, please."

The serving girl returned with another bottle of wine as well as a large piece of chocolate cake that she placed in front of Ember. Cullen continued to brood into his drink until Ember began to eat the cake. Cullen smiled as she moaned quietly around a piece of the delicious, chocolatey goodness.

Moments later and the bartender shouted for everyone to quiet down for the main event of the night. Most of the lights were blown out, darkening the room. Her companions and advisors returned to the table, taking their seats, Sera taking the seat beside Ember. The tavern was body to body packed with people, but the entire tavern became deathly silent as Leliana moved toward the bard on the first floor beside the fireplace with the grace of an assassin. How a person could move like that, all lithe curves and swaying grace, was a mystery Ember knew she would never figure out.

Leliana's flawless skin had a layer of make-up and rouge that made her breathtaking, primped down to the last eyelash. The redhead was all legs in her typical apparel that was flattering on her delicately voluptuous figure. Leliana's face was sharply elegant and calculating as her frozen blue eyes surveyed and instantly assessed every patron she passed, ignoring the rapturous expression every man and woman seemed to wear around her. There was one ability that Leliana dominated exceptionally well and which clearly gave her insurmountable confidence: her use of her sensuality. She always got whatever and whoever she wanted.

The room was silent as Leliana stood beside the bard, her eyes soft as they took in the room. "We near the end, brothers and sisters, where destiny awaits us," she said in that lovely voice of hers. "Death may come, but do not fear it, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One day we must all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free."

A beautiful sentiment, Ember thought, hoping it would bring some peace and hope to those that heard it, as it was surely meant to.

"So, take comfort, my friends," Leliana continued. "Take joy. Take love. Take them where you can find them. Enjoy this night."

The bard's fingers fell expertly across the strings of her lute and Leliana began to sing a slow, haunting tune with the sweetest melody. The gasp from the room was in unison. Her voice… it truly was that of an angel.

"Wow," Sera whispered beside her. Sera's eyes were glued to the Spy Master just like hers. Just like every one else in the room.

Her voice was so beautiful that some people had already been moved to tears. While she listened to her, Ember felt like Leliana was singing for her, and only her. She loved the pleasure and dolor, the delight and the pain that Leliana's heavy heart imparted to her. It was all part of her reality – the mission, the hope, the grief.

Leliana's voice faded to nothing and the entire room was silent before bursting into applause, a standing ovation. Leliana nodded before leaving the way she'd come in with a handsome blonde elf with a tattoo on his face that Ember had thought looked familiar. The moment the Spy Master left the tavern with the elf, the room burst into chatter, laughter, joking, and fighting again.

Sera nudged Ember with her elbow, pulling her gaze away from the door. "Here, Inky," Sera said handing her a napkin and a piece of decorative glass.

"What's this for?" Ember asked.

Sera giggled. "You got chocolate all over your face, yeah?"

"Oh," Ember said quietly turning a bright shade of red. "Thank you."

Ember took the napkin and the piece of glass in her hands. She chuckled to herself when she saw chocolate in the corners of her mouth from the cake she'd eaten.

_I'm such a mess._

Ember tried to fight her grin as she used the napkin to clean herself up. As she looked at herself in the glass her eyes shifted, her face blurred, and the faces behind her came into focus.

In the dark corner of the room behind her, impossibly bright blue eyes were fixed unwavering on her. They stared at her so intently that she was surprised she hadn't felt them boring into her back.

Her heart pounded furiously. Her lungs grew tight, about to collapse, as she stared wide-eyed at shaggy blonde hair, harshly carved features, and skin like snowy, porcelain perfection.

There was suddenly no one else in the entire room; all the external noise fading into the distance. Her eyes took in his long, lanky form that was folded into a wooden chair beside a small table, standing apart from everyone and everything else.

She felt her chest seize and was physically unable to look away from Cole's face – a face that had hovered above hers while he'd moved inside of her like he needed her in order to breathe. She felt the sick pounding of her pulse in her ears as she stared, her eyes like saucers. She didn't even blink. She didn't want to break the connection that held her enraptured. It was as if she had captured him and he was living in a locked cell she had unwittingly created for him made up of glass.

His eyes flickered and shifted to drag like fingers over her, so concentrated she felt them like a caress on her skin. His ardent gaze unleashed a sudden torrent of emotion within her. Every time he looked at her like that, with all his attention focused on her and nothing but her, the intensity of it was almost too much for one person to bear.

When they both realized they'd been spotted by the other, the glass fell from her fingers with a clatter upon the table top. Ember stared down at the glass, her chest rising and falling rapidly in shallow breaths.

She didn't want to look at him again. She didn't want to feel what she felt when she looked at him. Not when she knew he'd slept with someone else last night. At the thought, the pain hit her, a quick and stabbing flare in her chest. She was frozen in place, unable to breath for the vice that had clamped itself around her chest, her lungs unable to take in all but the smallest of short, painful breaths. Her stomach pitched and churned as though she might be sick, her eyes welling up.

Moments passed and when Ember finally regained the ability to breath and felt safe in the belief that the very telling pink had fled from her warm face, she slowly lifted the glass again with a trembling hand.

His seat was empty.

**Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Cosmic Love_  by Florence + The Machine. Also, the song Leliana sings in this chapter is called  _Leliana's Song_  and she sang it in Dragon Age Origins. You can listen to it on YouTube.


	21. Green-Eyed Monster

_O Maker, hear my cry_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_

_\- Transfigurations 12_

Sera was sitting at the long table with the other companions, scowling. The archer's legs were crossed, her dangling foot bouncing in the air. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her fingers drumming on her upper arms. Her eyes continued to restlessly shift to the bard who was singing by the fire on the first floor, playing her lute.

_Shite. She's pretty. Hazel-eyed lovely, shite. I kissed her. Why'd I do that? Stupid shite. She tasted like oranges. Shite. If she calls me knife-ear, I'll punch her._

Concealed completely by shadow, Cole came to stand unseen behind the bard, and when he spoke in her ear it entered the bard's mind as if from a dream, "You should tuck her hair behind her ear, let your finger linger on the lobe, and tell her how much you love her ears." Cole stepped back from the bard, wiping the memory of himself from the bard's mind.

Moments later, Sera went to the bar and the bard put her lute down and followed her. The bard did as he'd suggested, and the whispers of joy and excitement in Sera's head were loud as she pushed the bard into the back room before kissing her hard on the mouth.

Invisible, Cole chewed on a cinnamon stick as he moved through the crowded tavern, whispers of lyrics echoing in his head. He passed Dorian, who was sitting on a young man's lap. The young man's fingers were twirling the magister's facial hair while Dorian was singing, "Mu-stache. Mu-stache. I have the most glorious mu-stache!"

Cole listened to the whispers coming from Dorian, and despite the mage's glittering and joyful exterior, inside was wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful.

_Festus bei um canaverum. His skin is so tan, like fine whiskey, his cheekbones shaded, and his lips curl so delectably when he smiles. What if he doesn't want me after?_

Unawares by them, Cole stealthily replaced their drinks with glasses of water to slow down their drinking so they would remember this night. The water also had some crushed healing herbs he'd taken from the garden to help with their oncoming headaches.

Josephine leaned forward across the table toward Grim - one of the Bull's Chargers. With a sultry smile she placed her hand on top of his, saying they should get out of here and go back to her room for the night.

_Heart throbbing. Aching. Bleeding. He's gone. Left me naked in my bed without saying one damn word. Heartless bastard. Selfish prick. I hate Blackwall._

Cole reached into his black leather armor and removed the letter Blackwall had left for her on her desk. But Josephine had left her window open and the wind had blown the letter under her desk. Imperceptibly, Cole dropped Blackwall's letter into Josephine's lap under the table.

Josephine's eyes fell to the letter now resting in her lap, wondering how it had gotten there. She frowned and pulled her hand back from Grim's. She opened the letter and read it fast. Her fingers flew up to her lips, tears in her eyes, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She stood swiftly and uttered her apologies to Grim, saying that she wasn't feeling well, and then she left the tavern, the letter crushed to her chest.

Cole moved like a ghostly predator through the crowd - lean muscles coiling with each step, his head turning, scanning, listening. More came, barreling into his head, but Cole shoved the whispers away. The people either didnt notice him or regarded him warily with a frown, as if they could sense him as unnatural and inhuman. He fell into the seat opposite of Varric at a little table at the back of the room on the first floor. The tavern was loud. It was loud with music, chatter, laughing, and fighting. It was louder to him because of the whispers that crawled into his head, like the wasps did when they swarmed the nest hanging outside of Leliana's window.

Cole rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples. The noise was making his head hurt. His eyes were stingy and his body ached. He was exhausted. Candy had drained him of all his strength last night. She didn't let him sleep. She kept him up all night. His ears hurt. Candy could scream very loudly.

Cole's hands fell from his face to dangle between his knees. His eyes lifted to scan the room. The people here were full of pain. It didn't make sense. How could there be so much pain in a place where there was so much joy? The pain made them open, their minds bare for his help. That was why he came. He wanted to find that pain, to ease it, and then make them forget. That was his purpose. Heal, forget, disappear. But he'd grown distracted the moment he saw a flash of red.

He was happy Ember was here. She made his job so much easier. The hurt in the room seemed to dissipate simply because she was in it. In her they found hope, faith, and courage. In her they found more than just their salvation, found more than a chance at survival. In her they found peace.

Amazing.

She truly was.

He tried so hard to make just one person happy for only a fleeting moment, while her heavenly presence alone could ease the suffering of hundreds and instill in them the grace of the Maker. She made them brighter. She made them better. Simply because she was her.

Beauty. It was there in the tilt of her head, in the sway of her long flowing red curls, in the sun of her smile, in the fire in her eyes, in the curl of her lips. His eyes slid down her body, admiring her strength, in the way her sylph form held a will of tempered steel. His gaze came to rest on the fire banked deep inside of her chest. His eyes narrowed, as though he was staring into the sun, longing for her to fill the empty place in his chest.

Ember laughed and the warm tones carried to him across the room. The sound of her laughter actually made his heart hurt. All of a sudden, his chest was on fire, and it felt as if a wave of heat had rolled down the entire length of his body, like fire licking at parchment. He wondered how much of himself was left for her to burn.

"Kid?" Varric said, pulling him from his broody thoughts.

"Yes?" Cole inquired as he turned his gaze to Varric who was sitting at the small table across from him.

"You were watching the Inquisitor, with great interest I might add," Varric said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "With this sad, almost-longing look."

"It's hard not to look. Nothing more beautiful than starlight," Cole whispered, his eyes returning to Ember's face. "Gentle and strong. Will unshakeable, spirit unbreakable. Voice delicate and delectable, backed by dragon fire. A scarlet firebrand."

Varric swallowed some of the ale in his mug, watching him closely. "You look like you could use a drink."

"The Iron Bull says that is just another way of saying someone looks terrible."

"Well, you sure as hell don't look pretty," the dwarf uttered with a sly smirk. "So, what happened?"

Cole continued to stare at Ember as he answered honestly, "She touched me and I her."

Varric spit a mouth full of ale out. "You slept with her!"

Cole sighed wistfully. "Ruby lips sweet, warm, soft against mine. The taste of starlight on my tongue. Sighs that dissolve in my mouth, breathing life into me, light transferred. Body soft and glistening with sweat that tastes of fire and ice. Burning through the sheets as she works me. Drowning, sinking, swallowed whole, yet more alive than ever before. Her fingers tangled in the sheets, her legs locked around my waist, urging me to-"

"Shit. You're in love with her." Varric was starring at him as if he'd grown two heads.

Cole blinked, brows furrowing. "Love? I don't know. That word is always tangled with many other things – hate, anger, jealousy, pain. You can never tug it loose to stand on its own without tearing it." Blonde strands covered one eye, but the other shifted to Varric. "I breathe her. Is that the same?"

Varric gazed at him almost pityingly. "Be careful, Kid. These sorts of romances often don't end well."

"What sorts?"

Varric gestured with his hand. "Mage and demon. Two worlds tearing them apart with only love to keep them together." Varric shook his head. "Plus, you've got it bad for a rare breed - the driver of a story, a protagonist. And a good story. Well, that's about hurting good characters and seeing how they react. I've seen it. And wrote it. A thousand times. Expect some dramatic bumps in the road that's all."

Cole's eyes flickered away. "A sack on the side of the road, struggling. The boy runs from it, crying."

"Yeah… sure, Kid." Varric exhaled heavily as he ran a hand over his hair, eyes watching Cole with great interest. "So… you slept with her. Then what?"

His face dropped, shoulders sagged. "I ran away, like you did the first night Bianca's parents sent assassins to kill you. Returned while she slept, unable to stop. But ever since…" Cole absently rubbed at his chest, right over his heart. "Inside is cracked, split, jagged. Better for her if I'd stayed away, never touched her, never hurt her and made her bleed, but that isn't what demons do."

"Blood? What do you mean-" Varric's eyebrows shot to his hairline with understanding. "Oh… Oh! You mean like it was her first time?"

Cole visibly swallowed. "Yes. First time. And I hurt her."

"Ah, shit. I think I'm starting to see what happened. You freaked the hell out, didn't you?" Varric rubbed his forehead with a sigh, then muttered to himself. "Of course you did. You are  _you_  after all."

Cole dropped his head into his hands. "Yes. I am me. A monster."

"Shit, that didn't make you a monster, Kid. If it did, then just about every guy in the world would be a monster." Varric took a long pull on his ale. "Look, I get it. The same thing happened to me, Kid. Bianca and I were so young our first time. We didn't know what the hell we were doing, or what to expect. When you care for them… it's hard to see them in pain, especially when you know you're the one causing it. But it's just what happens, you know." Varric shrugged. "It's just part of it. And when you think about it, wouldn't you rather be the one with her, making it easier on her, helping her through it than someone else?"

Cole fell silent for a long time, thinking on that. Suddenly, images seared across his mind along with whispers coming from Varric. "Yes. I understand now. I see it."

"What?"

Cole looked at the dwarf. "You were thinking about the time you and Bianca first-"

"Kid, don't go there," Varric cut in.

Cole immediately felt Varric's sorrow rise up around him, old pain cutting that still cut deep. But the whispers were louder now, Varric's memory playing in front of his eyes. "Her body warm, leaning against the wall, blonde hair tangled in your fingers. Bianca grimaces, blue eyes creased, cheekbones flushed. She is hurting. This is causing her pain. You are hurting her. Shame, guilt, regret like an arrow to your heart. Her lips curl when she smiles up at you, reassuring, despite the pain she is feeling."

As he spoke, Cole could feel hatred wash through Varric, directed into the center of his own chest. Cole glanced across the shallow table. The dwarf's eyes met his own. "In your mind, she hated you for hurting her, but you're doing it wrong. That isn't what Bianca thought."

Varric's expression was doubtful. "Well, then… what did she think?"

"Harder."

Varric's eyes turned sorrowful. "Oh… yeah."

The dwarf's loneliness and misery hit him in a great swell, and Cole actually swayed under the emotion's force. "No, that didn't help - I tugged on the tangle and tore it-"

Varric's voice was thick, "It's all right, Kid. I'm fine."

He wasn't, but Cole was learning when the Stone needed him to stop talking. Cole felt the silence along with Varric's sad song. They were quiet for a long time. Then he whispered to the dwarf, "I was wrong. I understand now. When I was with her… there was blood and hurt, but it wasn't real."

The lyrics of Varric's broken soul faded to nothing. "Yeah. Something like that."

Cole sighed. "But forgiveness for hurting her won't make anything better. It's more complicated than that."

With a small smile, Varric uttered, "I think that's the first time I've heard you admit anything is complicated."

Cole looked down at his finger drawing circles on his thigh. "I don't understand all of it. I'm trying."

"Why is it more complicated?"

"Because…" Cole bit his lip, trying to put a difficult thought into words. "Because I want her  _so much_ …" Cole groaned the last two words through clenched teeth, as if in dire pain, eyes shut tight. "…so much that I want to live inside of her. Be one with her. Exist within her where it's warm and bright and safe. Become a physical part of her."

Varric blanched, his face as white as a sheet. "Cole, what you're saying…" the dwarf swallowed fearfully with mounting dread. "…it sounds like you want to… to…"

"Yes," Cole answered sharply.

Varric's eyes widened with alarm. "But she's a mage… and you're a… you couldn't possibly mean that you actually want to poss-"

Ice blue eyes slashed to the dwarf. "Yes."

Varric' eyes rounded, bulging in his head, and Cole sensed the chill of dismay mixed with apprehension shooting through the dwarf, sucking the warmth out of his body.

Cole tucked his chin, his eyes flashing dark navy, his jaw clenched. "I am me. Not a human, even though look like one." Cole's eyebrows drew tight and low over his stormy eyes. "She's safer when I only watch over her. Must unlearn to hope for more. Stumbling steps where the wall used to be."

After several moments of silence, Varric leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. He shook his head, sighing heavily, before pulling a flask from an internal pocket of his jacket and taking a long swig. He put the cap back on before tossing the flask to Cole who caught it with a deft hand.

Cole eyed the flask in his hand warily as he offered it back to the dwarf. "I do not drink alcohol."

Varric refused the flask and answered, "You do today, Kid."

Cole stared down at the flask as if it were a poisonous plant before bringing the flask to his lips. The liquid burned something terrible as it scorched down his throat leaving charred flesh in its wake. He grimaced then sputtered and coughed the vile liquid, shaking his blonde head violently as if the motion would somehow remove the vile liquid now coursing through his stomach.

Varric let out a chuckle as he observed Cole's reaction. "Good stuff, huh?"

Cole coughed harshly. "What is this? Deathroot? Acid?" he croaked, wincing as he rubbed his raw throat.

Varric clapped a hand on Cole's back. "No, nothing quite so healthy I assure you, Kid."

Cole dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. "Kid, says the stone. Kid, kidding. It would keep me kept with a name, but the cairn can't catch me."

"Here you go, Master Storyteller," the serving girl named Mary chirped as she placed a fresh mug of ale in front of Varric, who thanked her with a wink and five silver coins.

Varric took a long pull on his new drink while he eyed Cole watchfully. Cole took another sip of from Varric's flask and grimaced, coughing again. Varric set his mug down and stared into the golden liquid for a long while before looking back up at Cole.

"Hey, let me ask you a question, Kid. If she's starlight, then what are you?"

Cole stared miserably down at the flask before taking another sip. "Darkness."

There was another long pause. "Let me ask you something else, Kid. When you look up at the night sky, what do you see?"

Cole's eyebrows drew together. "Stars?"

Varric nodded. "And what do you see with them?"

Cole's head lifted and he stared at the dwarf. "I don't understand."

Varric gestured with his free hand. "What's always with a star - surrounding it, holding it?"

Cole bit his bottom lip. "Darkness?"

"Yeah," Varric nodded with a soft smile. "One might even say they were meant to be together."

Cole looked back down at the finger that had returned to drawing circles on his thigh. He turned the dwarf's words over in his brain, as if he could examine them. After a while Cole had to blink a few times to clear his watery vision, wondering why it felt like he was falling when he wasn't.

"Varric," he murmured, his lips twisting in an exaggerated look of confusion. "I feel funny."

"That's because you're drunk, Kid," Varric chuckled.

"Drunk?" Cole gasped, his eyes rounding. "I've never been drunk."

"You are now." Varric winked at him. "And it's a great place to be. Trust me."

Cole shook his head in an attempt to clear the hazy fog that clouded it. He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and his gaze shifted to find Ember sitting at a table across the room from him, deeply engulfed in a conversation with Cullen. She was having that affect on him, he realized. The one where his body visibly reacted to her, leaning in the direction her body was in the room, as if magnetically pulled to her.

As he watched her, a red curl kept falling in her eyes, and Cole reached out unconsciously to brush it out of the way, though he touched only air and heard Varric chuckle beside him.

Cole swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as he watched Cullen smile at her as she brought her wine glass to her lips, taking a small sip of the red liquid. He envied the glass as it touched her mouth.

Something stirred deep inside him, something electric, like a low hum of excitement in his blood. It awakened something inside of him, something hungry, though he still had trouble accepting its name. It was changing him, making him other. Always wanting to break free. He still couldn't understand its nature and was too afraid to even acknowledge its existence.

A smile twitched on Ember's ruby red lips - the soft one that was his favorite.

But she wasn't giving it to him.

She was giving it to Cullen, as if sharing some sort of secret only between them, something meant for just the two of them.

There was an unfamiliar uneasiness that came over him. It brought a strange welling in his chest. He was starting to feel a little queasy, thought he didn't understand why.

Cullen moved his chair closer to her, his arm touching hers, and the sensations invoked within him were difficult to pinpoint, swirling within him like a giant mixing pot. The conflicting chaos inside of him was inexplicable in its complexity.

Cole sat stiff in his seat, observing with a deep brooding glower as Cullen's eyes discreetly wandered the length of her body when she looked away, causing Cole's jaw to clench with escalating annoyance.

He didn't like that.

He didn't like that at all.

He didn't like the way Cullen was looking at her.

He didn't like it at all.

Strangely, he felt a jagged spike of something poke at him and he shifted in his seat. Why was he so… angry all of a sudden? It made him feel strange: irritated and restless in a way that he didn't like.

Cullen's hand came to rest on top of Ember's on top of the table they were sitting at, absently stroking her fingers as he talked.

Cole stared fixatedly at where Cullen's hand lingered on hers, as if he could remove it with his mind. He didn't like how Cullen's thumb swept back and forth along her bare flesh. He didn't like the way Cullen looked at her while he did it. He especially didn't like how she let him.

Cole felt something being born inside his chest, something dark and heated. He didn't know exactly what it was, but it seemed to start to nip at his heart's lining.

Cullen cupped her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, saying something that caused her cheeks to blush an appealing rosy color.

Cole instantly felt something swell within his skin, bundled up beneath the fleshy surface like molten lead, running fire-hot in his veins. He was  _hurting_. What he was seeing… it was like taking a sharp knife to the torso. It was cutting him up into pieces with every word and touch he gave her.

The more he focused on them, the more Cole's head was flooded with the whispers coming from Cullen. Unable to resist, Cole listened to Cullen's song. He heard Cullen's suffering. Addiction - clawing and biting - rattling chains that linked him to a belief long lost. Cullen thought losing himself in the Inquisitor would be like a cleansing fire - burning away the layers of blood, shame, guilt, and pain. He wanted her fire to purge his sins. Like the others, he saw her as his salvation. Cullen saw her as the Herald of Andraste, the one who could grant him absolution.

But Cole knew only the Maker could absolve one's soul, and he was very far away.

… _I want her… she'd be wild for me…_

Cullen's thoughts were a knife ripping through Cole's flesh. His body was clenched. His jaw, his chest, his fists. Clenched. He didn't tell his body to be that way, yet here it was. Clenched.

… _That hair… amazing… I want to put my face in it…_

The whispers coming from Cullen caused anger and anxiety to mix together, boiling in his belly until it kneaded into a knot. Only the lifting of Varric's flask to his mouth and swallowing was keeping him together from the feeling that was tearing through his insides like acid. It felt ugly and made him feel unsatisfied in his own skin. It was a terrible emotion that was so powerful and harrowing - no wonder demons fed off it.

… _I really want to taste her, hear her voice screaming my name in ecstasy as I pleasure her with my fingers and my lips and my tongue. She wouldn't be thinking of that guy then, whoever he is, not when she's screaming my name to the Maker…_

As Cullen's thought continued to pound into his brain, a potent anger rose like molten lead in his chest as possessiveness bit into his guts like a darkspawn. Cole realized his dagger was in his hand under the table, thought he didn't remember drawing it.

… _all that fire beneath me, her nails digging into my back, her legs wrapped around my hips, her tongue in my mouth as I thrust into her over and over again, erasing the man that was before me from her memory entirely, until I'm all she can see, hear, and think of…_

Cullen's lustful thoughts funneled into his head, causing his blood to boil within his veins. Searing, biting, clawing, suffocating. He was trembling, almost violently, as he felt something inside - a primal, instinctive part of his conscience - clawing to the surface.

 _Mine_ , a haunting little voice whined in the back of Cole's mind that sounded frighteningly like the many demons he'd heard in the Fade.

Cullen's finger ran down her arm, like he was marking her.

Cole's reaction was so fierce and instantaneous that had he been thinking rationally, it might have concerned him. But he wasn't rational at all. He was furious. He wanted to grab her chin and put his face directly in front of hers so he was the only one she saw.

Suddenly it was very important that he stand.

Cole shot to his feet. His body was humming, his skin prickling, his muscles twitching. His chest squeezed tight, the room spinning in a swirl of color and noise that didn't make sense. His blood pounded in his ears, his heart rate soaring.

It was suddenly very important that he go over to her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember was happily drunk and sleepy. The pain she'd felt at seeing Cole after his night with Candy had faded to a dull ache. She hadn't seen him since she saw him in the piece of glass. He must've left. Good. She didn't want to see him. Not now. Not when the pain of him being with someone else was still so fresh, still bleeding.

Cullen was sitting beside her, saying something to her. He was touching her arm, trying to get her attention, but she was having trouble focusing on him. Ember's eyes shifted to find Bull sitting in the chair across from her. He was snoring, for the massive Qunari had fallen asleep in his chair, with his pants undone. His mug tipped from his hand, dripping whiskey onto the wooden floor.

"I think…" Ember hiccupped. "… I think it's time for me to go."

"Really?" Came Cullen's velvety response in her ear. "Do you want me to help you to your room?"

Inexplicably, the fine hairs at the back of Ember's neck prickled and goosebumps formed on her skin. Her instincts bristled and her mind sharpened as she sensed  _him_  before she even saw him by the invisible wire in her heart that was connected to his.

Ember turned her chin and to find Cole standing right behind her, his body heat at her back, pressed up against the back of her chair.

Her pulse arrested when her eyes lifted to meet his. It was like a picture of the ocean in his eyes - raging dark waters, stormier than the skies of any thunderstorm, with flecks of silvery-white in them like seafoam streaked across them.

The dim lighting in the room had most of the strong angles of his face in shadow, but she could see a line was between his eyebrows, his nostrils were flaring, those eyes were watching her with the hungry acuity of a predator, and his mouth was curled in a look so possessive it was almost frightening.

Cole didn't even acknowledge Cullen, who was saying something, she realized. Cole continued to stare at her for several seconds, only breaking his gaze from hers to look down at Cullen's hand that was resting on her thigh, as if he wanted to cut it off.

Ember purposefully looked away from him. Her eyes stayed firmly on Cullen as she smiled at him, as if nothing had happened and there wasn't a spirit standing directly behind her, his eyes drilling into the back of her head.

"Thank you for your kind offer to escort me to my room, Commander. Why don't we-?"

Ember jerked when she felt fingers in her hair.

Cullen stared wide-eyed at her. "Inquisitor…" the Commander drawled. "Why is  _it_  grabbing your hair like that?"

Ember swallowed. "I don't know."

Cole's fingers tightened in her hair as well as pull her closer to him, forcing her back to arch.

" _It_ is looking at you as if… as if it wants to devour you," Cullen murmured to her, though his eyes remained on the one standing behind her with his hand still fisted in her hair. "It's… disturbing." His eyes returned to hers. "Is it hurting you?"

Cole's fingers loosened slightly in her hair.

Ember's hands were tightly clenched fists under the table. She had to get out of there. The awkwardness was too absolute. The fingers in her hair made her feel claustrophobic. The space around them was electrically charged with a caged intensity and she couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. The presence of the man behind her was wreaking havoc on her emotional stability.

Her voice wobbled, "I… I think I'm going to go."

Before Cullen could answer, Ember was out of her seat. Thankfully, the hand in her hair had fallen away without taking a chunk of her hair with it. The Inquisitor was hasty in her escape to the front door, unaware that every single eye was following her as she practically fled the tavern needing to put distance between herself and Cole as quickly as possible.

Cole turned and stalked out of the tavern after her. On his way to the door he wiped the memory of himself from every mind in the room. No one would remember how the strange young man they all found so odd and unsettling had his fingers wrapped possessively in the Herald of Andraste's hair while he held a dagger in the other, his unnatural blue eyes glaring around the room, warning and threatening not to touch.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Sometime Around Midnight_ by The Airborne Toxic Event.


	22. Don't Go

_Over all that exists_

_By your will all things are done_

_Yet you do nothing_

_\- Threnodies 5:11_

The Inquisitor burst out of the front door of the Herald's Rest and stormed toward the main keep like a focused tornado. She stopped and sucked in a deep breath of chilled night air in an attempt to settle her nerves, temper, and embarrassment. The sounds of the tavern behind her were loud, but the night air was refreshing in its coolness, washing over her and soothing the heated flush of her cheeks caused by the amount of alcohol she'd consumed.

Ember exhaled before shoving her hands into the pockets of her superior hunter armor and began heading for her quarters. In the misty night, after the afternoon of rain, she took slow steps on the damp ground. The leaves in the trees scattered around her were still wet with rain, hanging lifeless on their branches. Skyhold seemed tired, with tragic peacefulness and just such a hint of loneliness and pain.

With her head bowed she watched her feet with each step she took. Cole had looked like hell warmed over. His eyes had been red-rimmed. There'd been a flushed color to his cheeks that had indicated he'd been drinking. His shaggy hair had been more disheveled than usual. He hadn't looked like his sleep had been interrupted; more like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. And she knew why. A woman had kept him up all night. She pictured the hands of that gorgeous woman running down his chest, just as she had. She saw him kissing that other woman. She imagined him naked with that other woman like he had her, and she felt her heart crack down the middle.

She was struggling to hold in everything that threatened to spill out of her. Her throat was closed on tears and she hated them. Who he kissed was none of her business. Who he loved… was none of her business.

None whatsoever.

No matter how much it hurt.

Not paying attention, Ember walked right into something hard and unmoving. The Inquisitor stumbled back, but a hand caught her elbow, steadying her on her feet. Ember waited for the hand to fall away, but instead it moved lightly up her arm.

Coming back to her herself, Ember looked up.

Haunted, haunted eyes drifted to rest on her, the unnerving intensity in them boring down on her.

The air was gone from her lungs and she begged to a higher power that her eyes were deceiving her. She couldn't be near him now. Not with visions of that woman touching him still racing in her mind. The fact that he so willingly…

Ember sucked in a sharp breath. _I want to cry_. She raised her chin defiantly, holding his gaze.  _I won't_.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

She pulled her arm from his grasp and brushed passed him, heading for her room, her pace quicker this time.

"Don't go." Came the rasping demand from behind her, but much closer than it should have been given the amount of steps she'd taken.

Ember turned around and was startled by how close the broody spirit was. He was practically on top of her, staring intently at her in that disturbing way.

She grated, "You want to talk? Fine." Jabbing a finger into his chest, she glared up at him. "What the hell where you doing?"

His chin jerked up. "He was touching you." There was an edge to his tone and expression she couldn't put her finger on - something that made the tilt of his mouth and the slant of his eyes dangerous.

Her hands fisted at her sides, her words coming out hard and cutting, "Why were you grabbing my hair like that?"

He went still, but she saw the flare of possession in his eyes.

Comprehension dawned on her and she laughed, the sound brittle and bitter. "Oh… I see." She glared up at him, blind with hurt. "You can't stake a claim on something you have no intention of keeping, Cole."

With each cutting word, Cole's face collapsed further, until he had the countenance of the saddest of basset hounds. She was being cruel and she knew it. Part of her didn't want to hurt him, while the other part wanted to hurt him like he'd hurt her.

"He thinks of putting his mouth on yours." His voice was like sandpaper.

"Who?"

"Cullen."

"Oh."

Sharp, glittering eyes surveyed her. "Do you think of putting your mouth on his?"

She lifted her chin and decided to hurt him some more. "I've already put my mouth on his."

His gaze turned anguished. "Do you… do you breathe him?"

This was it. If she truly wanted to wound him, here was her chance. She would be lying, of course, but she'd hurt him. The harm the words would cause would be irrevocable. Would they be worth it? The words teetered on the end of her tongue.

Ember looked down and swallowed the words, the taste bitter in her throat. She could feel Cole's intense gaze on her, piercing into her. She forced her eyes to trail slowly up from his dark armored chest to the alabaster skin of his chin to those intense blue eyes staring back at her with quiet anguish and torment.

"No," she answered truthfully on the hushest of whispers. "I breathe only you."

Silence engulfed them as they stared at one another, the night breeze lazily blowing through their hair and clothes. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Ember tilted her head to the side as she watched his mouth slowly close again.

"Stop it. Just stop it." It was a broken whisper, almost too quiet to hear.

"Stop what?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Staring PAST my eyes."

His head tilted. "You aren't your eyes. You live behind them."

She raged, "Stop looking at me like that!" She shoved his shoulders with both hands and screamed a little when he didn't move much. "Stop watching me. Stop staring at me. Stop looking at me like… like… just stop it!"

Something flickered in his eyes - dark emotion that looked like pain - but his intense gaze never wavered. "I can't."

"You can't what?"

"Stop looking at you."

"Well, you've got to start learning because I can't take it!"

"Why?"

"Because… because… dammit, just forget it." She sighed, exhausted. "Just leave me alone."

"Why?"

Her chin lifted sharply and her eyes flamed. "So how was Candy? You two have a good time?" she snapped bitterly, shocked she'd brought her up.

"Yes," he answered casually. "She danced."

Ember's hands flew to cover her trembling mouth. "Oh, Maker. I can't hear this," she muttered into her hands, about to start crying.

"After she danced, I untangled the hurt that made her angry at her mother."

She blinked, not understanding, while he stalked toward her like a silent phantom until he was in her personal space.

"I helped her write a letter to send back home. She said I could call her Marguerite, the name didn't hurt anymore."

"Did you sleep with her?" The question burned her throat with its searing power.

"I slept in her bed."

Her heart stopped beating in her chest. "Was she in it with you?"

"Yes."

Pangs of jealousy jousted in her heart, and she failed in trying to quell them. "She can't have you," she growled. "I saw you first. I touched you first. I loved you first. No one can have you but me!"

Abruptly, he took her face into his hands. " _Dear heart_ ," he said fiercely. "All I am, all I can ever be, is yours."

His unflinching words pierced right through the armor of anger she wore, like the cleanest stroke of a dagger and plunged straight into her heart.

She swallowed. "Did you have sex with her?"

He shook his head no, his hands still holding her face.

"Did you kiss her?"

He shook his head no.

She bit her lip. "So… you just helped her and then fell asleep in her bed?"

He nodded. "Yes. She cried and screamed and then cried some more. She cried a lot and I rubbed her back to take the pain away."

His calloused palms slid down her face, down the sides of her throat, to lie against the rapidly beating pulse at its base. He paused, feeling the rush of her blood for a moment longer before drawing back, shaking his head at an unasked question.

"What?"

His eyes were searching, burrowing, trying to get inside her mind. "You thought I was with Marguerite the same way I was with you?"

She shifted on her feet. "Yes."

She saw a sharp glitter of emotion in his eyes. "How could I when pieces remain."

Her face pinched with confusion. "What?"

"Pieces of you. They remain." He pointed at his chest, expression taut. "Inside. I can feel them. Swimming in blood, expanding with lungs." His teeth were gritted, the words sounding pulled from his heart. "Inside me is you."

His eyes narrowed, danced away from hers, and skirted back as if he were wrestling with himself about something. "I hurt," he confessed in a quiet, scratchy whisper. "I hurt all the time. An old pain from before, when you ran away, when everything sang the same."

Her breaths became shallower. "I hurt too, Cole."

His heavy-lidded eyes were grave, his face tight and dark. "Why does it hurt?"

Her throat began to tighten. "Because it matters."

His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. "My chest is full of holes. I am empty, nothing, cut, cauterized." His mouth barely moved and his words sounded strained, as if his jaws were clamped together.

Her mouth ran dry. "Cole…"

"I cannot breathe without thinking of you… of how you pressed your mouth to mine, how you took me into yourself, how you felt around me, how you…" His eyes closed as if he was in pain and sucked in a deep breath. His eyes opened into hers and her gut rolled at the misery in their liquid blue depths. "At first, I wanted to remember. Now I just want to forget. It would hurt less to forget."

She froze, a sharp sense of panic lancing through her. "Don't forget what happened, Cole. Please… don't forget  _us_ ," she whispered, not even realizing that her palms were pressed against his chest until she felt the material of his armor under her hands and the heat rising off of his torso.

Cole's expression became distant, as if he was remembering something, his hands absently going to her hips. "You gasp then sigh, hands touching, lips tasting, sweat rippling down your body moving against mine, sweet release a breath away. Above me, flames of fire blazing around you, soft and trembling as you make me yours. Your fingers sore from clawing the sheets, your tongue tying itself tenderly around mine, urging me deeper into you…" He exhaled a hard breath. "I can't let that go. I won't let myself forget."

She rose to her toes, hands dragging up his torso, her fingers curling around his shoulders. He stiffened when her lips brushed his smooth cheek. He made an awful strangled sound as if wounded.

"Thank you," she whispered against his skin, her nose nuzzling his smooth cheek.

He didn't crack the way she yearned for him to do. She wanted him to turn his head and capture her lips with his. She wanted him to want her. She wanted him to love her. Yet he remained steadfast in his determination to keep her at a distance.

Disappointed, she dropped back to her heels and forced a smile.

One hand brushed her stomach as it rounded her hip to slide down to the small of her back while the other slowly lifted to her face. With his fingertips barely touching her skin, he stroked her cheek, causing pleasant little tingles to radiate under his touch.

His fingers pressed into the small of her back, bringing her closer as he gently tipped her chin up, lifting her eyes to meet his. She could neither move nor breathe, her heart hammering as though it was trying to rip itself out of her skin when his feet shuffled closer to her, heat radiating from the core of her body. He smelled smoky and slightly woody, with underlying hints of something spicy yet sweet. Fire and cinnamon. She leaned in slightly and breathed more of it in.

Her eyes warmed before falling to his mouth. Unconsciously, she licked her own, remembering his taste.

Cole's eyes darkened with an indefinable and unfathomable emotion as they tracked her tongue when it darted out of her mouth, wetting her lips. And she knew. He wanted to kiss her nearly as much as she wanted to kiss him.

She could feel her heart pounding, hear the roar of her blood surging through her body as he tightened his hold on her chin and slowly brought his head down, his mouth coming closer to hers. She could hear nothing but her own frenzied heartbeat as she felt his breath draw closer as he pulled her to him.

Cole suddenly stopped his decent, their lips aligned perfectly, separated by the smallest sliver of space. He inhaled a shaky breath while staring at her mouth, his face torn. She felt his hesitance rolling off him in waves of uncertainty, saturating the air around them.

She could virtually taste his breath on her lips. It was a slow kind of torture. She felt like she was about to die, and there wasn't a damn thing that could save her but his mouth on hers.

His lips pressed gently against her forehead. A tiny shiver cleaved her body when he touched his lips to her skin. His lips lingered a few seconds before he pressed his forehead against hers and grabbed hold of her face. Their eyes locked when they opened them, and she felt her throat close up when she saw tears shimmering in his.

A fierce wave of contrition swept over Cole's features. He sighed heavily, like the air in his lungs was too heavy to hold any longer, before letting his hands fall from her face to slide down her arms. With a grimace, he slowly pulled back.

_Why is he pulling away? Don't stop._

She grabbed his hands, but his fingers slid out of hers, eventually letting go.

_No, no, no. Keep touching me._

After several deep breaths, he stepped back from her. Her heart gave an irksome lurch, pulling awareness through the fog of her mind.

She was hurt because he didn't kiss her.

No, she was hurt because he  _wanted_  to kiss her, but he didn't let himself.

Pressure behind her eyes told her tears were collecting there. Wetness pooled in the seam of her eyelids, coating her lashes and dampening the thin skin at the outer corners. She was sick and tired of trying to reconcile all of his contradictions. She was sick and tired of walking on eggshells. She was sick and tired of waiting. She was sick and tired of all of this.

She turned to leave, but before she could take one step, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him in a tight embrace. Several minutes passed while they just stood there, holding on, as he brought her closer to him until her body was pressed firmly against his hard frame.

"Please don't cry," he pleaded in her ear. "I can't take seeing them." His arm tightened around her, crushing her to him, the warmth of his body pushing roughly into her own.

"I'm sorry." His hand lifted to cup her cheek, and his mouth was no more than half an inch from her other cheek. "I keep making it worse." His mouth was so close she couldn't distinguish if it was his lips or his breath that was feathering her skin.

He pulled away from her and pierced her with those wounded eyes. "I can't give you what you want," Cole rasped, his voice low and throaty his fingers digging into her upper arms as he held her away from him. She didn't think it was possible to cram so much regret and sorrow into one expression. "I am not human. You keep wanting that from me, but I can't give that to you." His tone was filled with grievous resignation. "I don't… I don't know how." His voice cracked, and she could hear his vulnerability.

Her hurt quickly succumbed to the anger building up inside of her. For ponderous seconds she only stared mutely up at him. Then the import of his words registered with full force, and she yanked her arms free of his strong fingers and shoved herself away. Her chest was heaving with outrage. She swallowed the hot anger that threatened to choke her.

"What I want is  _you_!" Before she could stop herself, her next words were a snarl of bitter seething anger, pouring from her mouth, full of resentment. "And unlike you, I don't regret anything. I don't want to forget. Unlike you, I won't lie to you and say that I can't be with you. I can and I want to. I will not be a coward and I will not - don't look at the ground, look at me!" she shouted and blue orbs snapped back to her eyes. "I am not afraid to tell you that I care for you and that I have, and will, love none but you!" Her turquoise eyes glinted with hurt and ire. "But loving you does not feel like a blessing right now, Cole. It feels like a curse!" She turned on her heel and stormed to the main keep, not once looking back.

Cole hung his head, suddenly swept by a wave of misery and loneliness that seemed to flood his very soul. He remained motionless, staring at her the entire time she walked away. She didn't see the way he turned to walk away, smashing his fist into a tree, splitting the bark.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember lay still in the darkness of her room. She had been asleep in her bed for a good long while, she guessed. What had awakened her? Was it a dream? No, for she had not dreamed at all that she could remember. Still, something had awakened her. Something had given her a jolt as she lay there wrapped in her sheets. But what?

Lying very still on her side, she scanned the darkness in her room with her eyes, trying to pinpoint the source that had awakened her. Her heart raced and every muscle in her body stiffened when the bed shifted as a body lowered itself onto it behind her.

She swallowed, the hand on the dagger beneath her pillow tightening as they drew closer to her. But then her fingers loosened on the hilt of her dagger before releasing it because she knew it was  _him_. No one else could cause her body to react the way it was reacting.

Ember squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the sheets lift up behind her. His arm slid under her pillow and the other arm wrapped tightly around her body, pulling her against his armored chest, burying his face in her neck. Their bodies met, and it created a force so powerful that every other part of her was demanding to be pressed against every other part of him. He must have felt the same because he molded his body to hers. She could feel the taut muscled strength of his body against hers. His familiar scent and shape was a sorely needed comfort.

"You're here?" Ember asked on the softest of whispers, needing to make sure he was really there with her and that this wasn't just another vivid dream.

Cole moved his mouth to her ear and kissed it. "Yes," he whispered, his hand slipping underneath her sleeveless tunic and onto the warm skin of her stomach. His palm pressed against her stomach, pulling her tighter against him. "I am here."

She swallowed. "Why?"

His lips grazed her ear lobe, not quite a kiss, but warm shivers slid down her spine. "You were calling for me in your sleep."

Her eyebrows drew together. "You had to be in my room in order to hear me talking in my sleep."

Warm breath caressed the side of her face. "Yes."

"Do you do that often?" she asked softly. "Come into my room while I'm sleeping?"

His nose brushed her cheek before drawing along the skin of her jaw. "Yes."

His lips pressed to her hair, breathing deeply. She wasn't sure if he was about to turn her onto her back and kiss her. She wasn't even sure if he was about to disappear. The only thing she was certain about was that she needed him to keep holding her.

Ember slipped her fingers through the hand that was resting tightly against her stomach and she squeezed it. "Don't go."

He held her as tight as he could as his mouth met her bare shoulder, kissing her lightly. The feel of his lips against her skin caused heat to spread out from her chest in pulsing waves.

"I won't," he whispered against her skin, before slowly dragging his lips across her collarbone while sliding his calloused palm up her stomach to her ribs.

Her breath caught. A tenuous hope took fire in her chest. "You won't sleep in anyone else's bed? Even if you're just helping them?"

"I won't," he answered softly, nipping at the hollow where her shoulder met her neck.

Ember reached up behind her to sink her fingers in his shaggy hair, pressing his mouth deeper into her throat. Shivers ran through her – hot and cold at the same time from Cole's open mouth against her skin. She arched into him when he scraped his teeth up the side of her neck. Then soothed the sting with his tongue.

He suddenly stopped, his breath coming in short panting bursts against her flesh. His forehead dropped into the hollow of her neck. His arms tightened around her, crushing her to him. The embrace had an aching need to it, his arms strung so tightly around her that she could hardly breath. His arms began to shake as he held her with such intensity and desperation that it became heartbreaking.

"This is real." His voice was low and thick with too many emotions to name. " _We_  are real."

And that's exactly how they fell asleep - wrapped silently together.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Give Me Love_  by Ed Sheeran.


	23. The Winter Palace: Part 1

_All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands_

_From the lowest slaves_

_To the highest kings_

_Those who bring harm_

_Without provocation to the least of His children_

_Are hated and accursed by the Maker_

_\- Transfigurations 1:1 – 1:5_

The Inquisitor sat on the couch in her bedchamber at Skyhold as Leliana and Josephine wrestled with something long and orange in the pile of clothes they'd brought with them that were now hanging in her closet. After a few seconds, Leliana turned toward her, holding-

Oh, hell no. A knot of horror clenched in her gut, all thought of the mission to save Empress Celene forgotten.

"It's lovely, no?" asked Leliana, her eyes glinting. Ember didn't know if it was out of amusement or malevolence. Quite possibly both.

Ember glared. "I don't wear dresses. I don't  _like_  dresses."

Leliana fought a smile as she went back into the wardrobe to search beside Josephine The Spy Master was wearing a lavish, sapphire blue silk dress that slid sleekly down her curvy body to heeled shoes of the same blue color. Beside her, Josephine looked lovely in a lavender ball-gown, her neck adorned with a bright diamond, her black hair swept up in intricate braids. They were both stunningly gorgeous, sophisticated, and elegant. They would fit right in at the Palace. She would not.

Josephine pulled back out of the wardrobe, a dress held up before her. Ember's jaw clenched. The gown, in short, was atrocious. One could see that right off. It was hard not to, since the damn thing was made of a garish pink taffeta with awful ruffles. Ember had never worn the color pink and didn't plan on it.

Ember's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious."

Josephine looked at the dress. "You don't like it?"

Ember crossed her arms. "I loathe pink, and I refuse to wear anything that is absolutely  _festooned_  with ruffles."

Josephine frowned and ran a hand over the pink fabric. "What about something purple? With your hair color, you'd look nice in purple."

"I don't wear dresses," Ember stressed again through a clenched jaw. " _Ever_."

Josephine gave her a sharp look. "I don't know, because you do now. I'm in charge of wardrobe for the mission tonight at the Winter Palace, and unless you want to go naked, Inquisitor, you're wearing a dress."

Ember stared at the pink monstrosity, horrified. "I'm not your doll, ambassador. You can't make me play dress-up."

"Yes, I can," snapped Josephine. "And I will. I've got a dozen years of high-society fashion expertise, and I can make your life a nightmare if you try to fight it. Ever try to sit down in a dress with a bustle?" The ambassador gave her a pointed look. "Behave, or I might consider making you wear one."

"Besides, you can't say you don't like it until you give it a chance, sweeting," Leliana added brightly. "How about this dress? It belongs to Sera. She gave it to me this morning, thinking it would look lovely on you."

Leliana held up a forest green, faux velvet dress. It was a simple and modest dress that reached the floor and had long sleeves. It was still a dress, so she hated it in principle, but at least it wasn't ruffly, frilly, or poofy like all of the other dresses Leliana and Josephine had shown her.

"That one?" Josephine eyed the dress with disgust. "But it's a peasant's dress. Not one the Inquisitor should-"

Letting out a low growl in the back of her throat, Ember stood and snatched the dress from Leliana's hand and stormed into the side room to change. They could make her wear a dress, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Once she was alone, Ember pulled off her armor and let the dress slip over her head. Her face flamed as she looked down at herself.

Horrible.

Forest green velvet hugged every inch of her. Narrow sleeves fanned out just toward the end, the waist fitted, the skirt hugging her body down to her ankles. The bodice dipped low over her chest, her small breasts having no place to hide. Two little mounds that - to her horror - jiggled with every move she made. One deep breath and she would likely pop free and flash the Queen of Orlais, thoroughly disgracing herself and the Inquisition.

Blushing furiously, she gritted, "I am  _not_  wearing this."

She could hear Josephine laugh in her room. "Oh, come now. Surely the gown isn't so horrible?"

Ember's scowl deepened. "'Horrible' doesn't even begin to describe it."

Ember returned to them glowering. Josephine was obviously displeased with the dress, but Leliana seemed to find it fitting. Josephine was grumbling to herself while she tried to force Ember's feet into a pair of heeled shoes, but Ember refused and instead pulled on her black boots before strapping a dagger to her thigh.

Once they'd finished dressing her, they sat her down and fussed with her wildly unruly red curls for a few minutes. But when they were unable to run a comb through them, they gave up and moved on to her makeup. Ember was terrified. She'd never worn makeup before and really, really didn't want to now.

Leliana hummed as she worked, and any complaints Ember had were either ignored or cut off by random bursts of song. Just as she started to wonder if the torture would ever end, Leliana was finished.

"All done," Leliana said clapping her hands with glee and satisfaction.

Ember turned and looked at herself in the mirror on her vanity. Her face was brushed with all of these colors. Her blue-green eyes were heavily lined with dark powders, her cheeks artificially pinkened, and her lips stained a dark red that made them look like they were dipped in blood.

The Inquisitor frowned. "Why do I need all these colors on my face?"

Leliana smiled. "You look great, no?"

"I look like a fancy whore," Ember answered honestly.

Leliana slapped her shoulder. "Hush, you look amazing, sweeting."

Ember didn't think so. She looked like a strumpet, not a warrior. She felt so phony, but she guessed she was doing a good enough job at masking the inner turmoil because the other two women didn't seem to notice her distress. But Ember felt an anxiety attack brewing in her stomach at the thought of being seen in public like this. Not just in public, she reminded herself, but in front of the Queen of Orlais and the entire Orlesian court, as well as the most influential people in all of Thedas.

"Cullen's jaw will drop when he sees you," Josephine giggled.

Ember remained silent as she thought back to last night at the Herald's Rest, and of how she'd woken up this morning with an irrepressible grin, which had faded when she'd rolled over to find Cole missing from her bed.

It seemed he'd stayed with her last night, but nothing had been resolved. There had been no solution between them, nothing fixed or changed. He still had a brick wall made up of fears between them. She understood his fears, the dangerous that lurked simply because he was what he was, and she was what she was. But she felt – no, she  _knew_  – that last night she'd made a sizable hole in the wall that kept him from her.

She'd never believed in anything. The world had always been against her. If something could go wrong, it did. If something could hurt her, it cut deep. If something could break her, it tried. This world made her believe in nothing but the guarantee of loneliness, pain, and suffering. But she believed in them.

At her silence, Josephine turned her head and watched her closely.

"You do like Cullen, don't you?" Josie asked.

Ember played with the long sleeves of her dress. "Cullen's a good friend."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"We need to leave for Halamshiral," Leliana said. "Are you ready, sweeting?"

"No," Ember answered glumly. "I'm a fighter, not a politician. I don't think I can do this."

Josephine crossed her arms. "Inquisitor, every noble in the empire will be attending the grand ball tonight making it the perfect place and time for Corypheus' assassin to strike."

Ember grumbled, "I know."

Josephine's voice turned stern, "Inquisitor, I must warn you before you go to the Winter Palace: How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death." Her expression was grave. "It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness."

Her eyes rolled. "Don't they sound delightful. I'm socked we haven't invited the court to dinner at Skyhold."

"The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards." Josie ran a nervous hand over her gown. "When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. To be honest, you were safer in the Fade with the fear demon."

Ember got to her feet and headed for her door. "You're just full of joy and light this evening."

Josephine sighed wearily as she followed after the Inquisitor and the Spy Master. "Everything will be fine." The ambassador sounded like she was trying to reassure herself, sounding truly terrified they would all be hanged before the night was over. "Andraste watch over us all."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the other side of Skyhold, Cole was hiding.

He'd squeezed inside a large hollow cavity in the trunk of a large dead tree. A dense moisture and an acrid smell of rot and decay surrounded him in the hollow, damp enclave.

He stood on numb legs with his back against the wall of the tree trunk, his eyes closed, the orange tabby cat that had followed in after him swatting his feet.

"Elgar!"

Cole jumped when he heard Solas' voice shouting the elven name he called him when he was angry.

There was a hole in the side facing the stables and Cole tripped over the cat as he moved toward it, looking through it, and realizing that he had a good vantage.

With his heart hammering, he kept his eye on the open space in front of the tree, watching his friend approach through the hole.

"Cole, stop hiding from me!" Solas shouted. "We need to finish our conversation."

Cole remained silent in his hiding place inside the tree trunk as he watched Solas search for him.

He didn't want to talk to his friend right now.

Solas had found out about what had happened last. His friend was very angry with him. Very disappointed. Frightened for the two of them. Solas said he was making a huge mistake. Solas had said he was endangering her. Solas had said he was putting the world at risk all for something so trivial. Solas had said… many things. But his friend didn't understand.

After a while of searching, Solas sighed, giving up. "You know what I said was true, my friend," Solas whispered to himself, but Cole heard him. "Mana atish'all lathbora viran."

"Fenedhis lasa," the elf cursed as he turned his back to Cole and headed for the stables. "Dirthara-ma enfanim mala vhenan'ara."

After the elf had disappeared, Cole slid out of the cavity in the tree trunk.

He sighed, sagging back against the tree trunk and banged his head into the wood, the cat following out after him to continue to swat at his feet.

The sky was suddenly clear and the fading sun hot on his face. A cool breeze ruffled his clothes and hair as the birds chirp noisily overhead. He looked up into the branches of the tree and spotted a blue jay.

"Tell me a story," Cole whispered to it, needing it.

The blue jay chirped away, telling a story that Cole wished he could understand.

He felt unusually drained, limbs heavy, and the rumbling emptiness in his stomach was growing more insistent than ever. His body ached from head to toe. The cut on his arm hadn't healed yet, which was strange. He usually healed very quickly. When he went to the rookery this morning to put honey in Leliana's tea, she'd seen him even though he hadn't allowed her too. That seemed to be happening a lot more lately. He didn't know why.

Cole squeezed his eyes shut. Last night he'd given up his silent vigil as her ever watchful but distant protector. He'd been touching her cheek, unable to stop from allowing himself that one touch. When he pulled his hand away to go, she'd spoken to him in a voice so sweet.

" _Don't go. Don't leave me alone."_

Cole slammed the back of his skull into the wood again and then again.

"Hey, Kid!"

Cole jumped to find Varric standing in front of him, flanked by The Iron Bull, Cullen, and Blackwall.

After reading Blackwall's note, Josephine had worked tirelessly throughout the night and used the Inquisition's resources to get Blackwall - Thom Rainier - out of prison and into the Inquisition's custody. Cole was glad Blackwall was back, glad the others weren't still angry at Blackwall for lying to them, or at him for not telling them about Blackwall's past.

"Ready to leave for the Winter Palace?" Varric asked, watching him carefully.

Cole nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

As they walked the grounds of Skyhold, The Iron Bull, Varric, Blackwall and Cullen were dressed in clothes that were different than they usually wore, and were bright red in color and very shiny. He wasn't very bright or shiny in his typical black leather armor.

While Josephine and Leliana prepared Ember for the Winter Palace – whatever that meant - the rest of the group had voted that because of his uniqueness and social awkwardness, they didn't want him mingling with the nobility. That was okay with him. He didn't like talking, preferred helping. They'd said that his unique skills made him the best one to keep to the shadows of the Palace and find the assassin while the others played the Game. He was a little disappointed. He liked games, although they all seemed frightened to play this one.

"Hey, Kid, on the mission this morning that farmer was looking right past you. Why didn't you let him see you?"

Cole looked down at the dwarf walking beside him. "He didn't need me."

Varric shrugged. "Maybe not, but you could learn something by talking with him."

Cole's head tilted. "What would I learn? I can hear when they need me."

Varric grumbled, "You could learn not to scare them so badly that they have to forget you."

Cole fiddled with one of the straps of his armor. "I'll… try."

Varric eyed him closely with a pitying look. "Last night was rough. How are you feeling, Kid?"

Emotions and memories rippled from Varric into Cole. There was an elven girl with black hair, and Varric found the girl similar to him - unstable, senseless, and dangerous yet kind with a good heart . Varric's thoughts about him and Ember were also similar to Solas' thoughts.

Cole's head lifted to look up at the setting sun. "If you don't get some sunshine you wilt. She says she's not a plant, she's fine, but falling, faltering, foolish. Blood on her hands. People and demons always end in trouble. Too many daisies in this garden." Blue eyes fell back to the dwarf. "I am good, Varric. I am me. You don't need to worry, but thank you for caring."

Cole immediately felt Varric's grief and unease rise up inside him at his words, old pain that lingered on the stone's mind. "Al…right? Well let me know if you ever… er… yeah."

Moments later, Blackwall stopped by the flower stand by the stables to pick up something for Josephine. The sight of Blackwall's interest intrigued Cole as the old, frail woman explained the symbolism of different colors and species of each flower.

The old woman was blind, Cole realized, her eyes glossed over in a milky-white and her hair was frizzled and ashen. Her face was covered in the lines of experience and age. There was something different about the withered old woman, though. She was sharper, in both places, like Solas. A mage? Yes, but also no. Magic was there – glittering and glinting - but it was unfamiliar and old, very old. She felt like the hollowed out piece of wood he'd just been hiding in.

The Iron Bull howled with laughter when Blackwall settled on a small bouquet of purple flowers.

"Pansies…" The Iron Bull choked with laughter, though Cole didn't understand why the name made The Iron Bull laugh so hard.

Blackwall looked embarrassed but it passed quickly as he looked down and smiled at the small and delicate purple flowers.

"You know, if you like them so much Hero, maybe you should wear some in your hair. Or beard," Varric joked.

Blackwall continued to smile that goofy grin, though he retorted raucously, "Piss off."

"Maybe you should wear some just around the neck like a necklace," Cullen suggested, stifling his laughter, gesturing to his neck.

"Shut up!" Blackwall shouted at the Commander with a bright red blush.

"And for you," the old woman said abruptly in a shaky, frail voice, addressing Cole.

Cole turned in surprise to see the elderly woman holding out a handful of little indigo flowers to him with a toothless smile.

"I… I have no money," Cole said apologetically, refusing the flowers.

The elderly woman shook the flowers at him rather insistently, "Take, take. She will love. Forget-me-nots symbolize good memories."

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught Cullen staring at him with a strange look. The Commander's face was pinched and his eyes were narrowed on him, as if he was trying to remember something.

Cole shifted nervously on his feet; glad he'd wiped the Commander's memory last night at the tavern.

"Take, take!"

Cole cleared his throat as he turned back to the old woman still holding the flowers out to him. "I-I don't… ugh…"

"Oh, come on, take them," The Iron Bull urged. "If you give them to Candy, she might give you another night for free."

"Who's Candy?" Cullen asked.

The Iron Bull grinned proudly. "A wonderfully talented young woman that I introduced Cole to a few days ago."

Cullen gave the Qunari a pointed look. "A prostitute, you mean?"

"She's still a woman," The Iron Bull retorted sharply.

"I didn't mean any offense," Cullen replied.

"Take, take!" the elderly woman shouted persistently, shoving the flowers in Cole's face.

"Umm… thank you," Cole said awkwardly as he took the flowers, unsure of what to do with them. He stared down at the little flowers for a long moment before tucking them gently into his armor.

The others continued toward the stables to ready their horses for the trip to Halamshiral, but the old woman stopped Cole with a brittle hand on his arm. The old woman's milky-white eyes were wide, as if in fear, as she stared at his face, as if she could see him with those blind eyes.

After a slight hesitation, she took her withered hand away and warned him quietly, "Don't let the last blue leech perish."

Cole's face pinched in confusion. "Blue leech?"

Her expression was wrought with anxiety. "He will come for the Inquisitor sooner than he should if the last blue leech is destroyed."

Cole frowned. "The Elder One won't-"

She shook her head. "Not the Elder One. The Elder One dies floating in the sky." Her crooked joints extended a knotted finger toward him. "You  _must_ save her, Compassion," the old woman said firmly. "He will come for her soon if you don't, but only if the last blue leech is destroyed."

A cold lance of fear stabbed him. "Who will come for her?"

Her wrinkled hand shook as she pressed it to her chest. "Death."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hell came wrapped in a pretty package - a lovely ballroom in an equally lovely palace.

The ballroom at the Winter Palace was a beaux art treasure of opulence. There was a large dance floor with several bards setup in front of it with lutes, flutes, and harps. There were marble floors and pillars, dramatic mirrors on the walls, floor length windows covered with sumptuous golden curtains. A magnificent stained-glass ceiling was overhead along with several crystal chandeliers that dripped light into the room, giving off a warm and intimate glow. Fragrant white flowers that were caught up in massive bouquets that lined the room thickened the air with their perfume.

The ballroom was filled with hundreds of elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies wearing masks, consisting of nobles and the most prominent people in all of Orlais. The men wore posh breeches, vests, and coats; while the women wore lavish ball gowns of the highest fashion. They were laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking all around her. They were enjoying themselves and mingling with one another.

Standing in the middle of it all, the Inquisitor wanted to scream. Didn't they know there was a war going on? Didn't they know a false god was trying to bring the world to an end? Didn't they know people were dying and the world was going to shit? They either didn't know or knew but didn't care. Damn aristocracy.

"They let the Inquisition in here?" A masked noble man murmured to the man beside him, utterly aghast and disgusted. "I fear the Queen will have to fumigate. That is the proper way to eliminate vermin, after all."

"And did you see the so called Inquisitor?"

"Do you not believe her to be the Herald of Andraste?"

"Absolutely not. The Maker's bride would not have chosen such a creature as her herald. No, she would have chosen someone with class, poise, charm, and beauty. Not some unsightly, crass, heathen rogue."

Those comments were just a drop in the bucket for the night and they were really staring to get on her nerves. Since the moment she'd arrived, they'd stared at her, goggling and gasping, but afraid to get too close. Everything she did, wherever she was, was watched and discussed and criticized over.

 _Blasphemer_ , was one she heard whispered a lot.  _Freak_ and  _ugly_ , were others. At least mage wasn't one of them.

Being the center of attention, Ember decided, was hell. A very pretty version of it, but hell all the same. She'd never felt as alone, cold, and unhappy or as ostracized - and that was saying something coming from an apostate, she mused as she watched the nobility play the Game.

She was disgusted with all the falseness and pompousness, unable to stomach the deceit and the wickedness around her. This place and the people in it made her skin crawl. She felt like she was swimming with sharks in deep water with a bleeding wound.

A young girl in an expensive cream dress came running toward her, nearly bursting with her excitement and curiosity.

"Don't go near her!" The child's mother warned, pulling the girl back by her little arm.

The girl protested, "But Mama, it's the-"

"No, Marjorie!" The mother yelled down at the girl as she dragged her away, as if Ember was poisonous.

Ember's insides heaved, making her feel nauseous. She tried to take deep breathes to keep her temper in check, but the gentry pressed in on her, their sour scents and heavy perfumes clogging her nostrils and making it hard to breathe. She preferred the smell of blood. What did that say about her?

The Herald of Andraste turned her head and was surprised to see the grizzled Blackwall approach Josephine with purple pansies that he seemed so damn proud of, and Josephine seemed equally impressed.

"How'd you know I'd be wearing purple?" Josephine asked sweetly, letting him pin the arrangement above her heart, hovering just below the neckline of her bodice.

Blackwall shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned this goofy little smile that was part embarrassment and part pride.

 _They make a nice pair_ , Ember thought with a smile before she downed the rest of the champagne in the crystal flute in her hand.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" she heard a noble man muttered with disdain behind her.

"She's so… ordinary." Was the reply in a tone that indicated ordinary was a mortal sin.

"Less than ordinary," the noble male corrected.

"More like a red haired peasant," his gossip partner cackled. "Do you see what she is wearing?"

With utter contempt, the noble man replied, "It's an  _elf's_  dress. Horrendous."

Voice dripping with disdain, "That… miscreant … cannot be the Herald of Andraste. Such arrogance and blasphemy."

"Is this Gaspard's idea of a joke?"

Ember ground her teeth together at the disparaging remarks about her. She forced herself to smooth out the creases in her gown in an attempt to control her temper that was dangerously thin. She let her taut fingers drag up the faux velvet on her thigh, admiring the smooth feel of it, before letting her eyes wander, absentmindedly scanning the faces around her. They stopped when they landed on a familiar shade of blonde hair.

Ember focused her attention on Cullen, who was standing with his back leaning indolently against the railing across the ballroom on one of the balconies. There was a brooding expression on his arrestingly handsome face, a gaggle of men and women surrounding him with lustful eyes as they vied for his attention.

Cullen's expression turned pleading as he mouthed to her, "Help me."

Ember chuckled. He looked so uncomfortable as he loosened the collar around his neck, though every strand of his perfectly coiffed blonde hair was lacquered firmly in place. He wore a high-collared white shirt with a white kerchief, a black coat over a red-satin waistcoat, and an expertly cut black frock coat and trousers tucked into tall black boots.

Throughout the night, she'd observed several women making deliberate eye contact with the Commander and smiling suggestively at him. One even slipped him a piece of paper at one point, probably with a location to meet up with her. Cullen had smiled at the bold woman, flashing her that dashing smile of his, before nodding back at her as he put the paper in his pocket. His responses made her happy. Ember was glad the charming ex-templar was picking up a few women tonight.

Cullen's expression became desperate as he pleaded, mouthing to her, "Please, help me."

Coming to his aid, Ember moved through the throngs of people that filled the ballroom of the Winter Palace to its capacity. She set her glass down and smiled as she approached Cullen out on the balcony as he addressed his group of admirers with a natural charm and charisma that she could never hope to possess.

A masked young woman fluttered her eyelashes at him and bent forward slightly to better display her cleavage. "Can I get you a drink, Commander Cullen?"

Cullen's smile was polite if not a little strained. "No, thank you."

Cullen jumped, uttering a choked sound and turning pale. His gaze snapped to the young man standing next to him, his expression utterly aghast. "Did you just…  _grab my bottom_?"

The young man giggled. "I couldn't help myself."

"Oh look, the Inquisitor!" Cullen exclaimed with enthusiasm and bright red cheeks. "Would you all please excuse us?"

The group pouted as they left the balcony to return to the ballroom, giving Ember nasty glares as they passed her.

Ember chuckled. "You've attracted a following. Who are all those people?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but they won't leave me alone."

She smirked. "Not enjoying the attention, then?"

"Hardly," he laughed lightly.

"You want a drink?" asked Ember.

The Commander shook his head. "No, thanks."

She tilted her head to the side. "You're not drinking anything tonight?"

He smirked at her. "No, women take advantage of me when I drink."

Her lips quirked up at the corners with amusement, and the Commander studied her for a moment before his lips curled into an affectionate smile. He slowly stretched a hand out toward her, his eyes shining as he asked charmingly, "Would you like to dance, Inquisitor?"

Ember's mouth fell open slightly in surprise. She wasn't sure what to say. First of all, she didn't know how to dance. She'd never been asked before. Secondly, she didn't want her first try at it to take place in a room full of people. Thirdly, she didn't want to dance with Cullen. She didn't want him to get the wrong impression.

She took a step back, shaking her head. "I'm not one for dancing."

Crestfallen, he uttered, "Oh."

Suddenly, everything was unbearably awkward.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was dark outside and humid. The moon and stars were hidden behind a steady stream of storm clouds that left the Winter Palace covered in a blanket of darkness.

Crouched down on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, Cole was perched on the rooftop of the Winter Palace like a permanent fixture, a cinnamon stick between his teeth.

A gentle breeze blew through his shaggy hair as his ice blue eyes scanned the grounds around the palace, searching for the assassin while he idly twirled a dagger in his hand.

He could barely make out the music playing inside the palace as well as smell the aromas coming off the foods available to the guests inside. He'd watched the Inquisitor's companions and advisors enter the palace earlier, though he hadn't gotten a glimpse of the Inquisitor herself.

His body tensed suddenly when his ears picked up the sound of a crossbow being cocked, and he triangulated the weapon's location.

Cole disappeared and reappeared on the opposite side of the roof were an Antivan Crow was holding a loaded crossbow that was following Ember his as she walked out to stand on a balcony in front of Cullen.

_Protect her._

With the words screaming with alarm inside his head, Cole's body primed for his attack, his heart pumping steadily, the muscles in his arms and thighs twitching in anticipation as he glided across the shingles of the roof like smoke on water, creeping up on the assassin from behind.

The dagger in his hand told him where it needed to go. Cole grabbed the assassin by the hair, pulling his head back, before dragging his blade across his straining throat. Blood gushed out, and Cole lowered the assassin gently to the roof. Cole stared down into his wide eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him. The crow twitched violently and then went still.

Cole frowned as he listened inside the crow's head. This was an assassin hired to kill the Inquisitor, not the assassin here to kill the Queen.

Crouched down, Cole wiped the blade off on the assassin's pants before slipping it back where it belonged, and stood up. He looked around. He made those in the garden staring up at him forget him.

He disappeared and reappeared on the roof right across from the balcony Ember was standing on with Cullen.

He looked at her for the first time that night.

Flaming locks of scarlet curls swept clear of an angular face, freckles speckled on a tip-tilted nose, a golden hue to smooth skin. Eyes two swirling pools of liquid sapphire and emerald. Her sparkling aura mingled with the pulsing green power of the Mark. It made her look like thousands of tiny white-green jewels that had been spilled onto black velvet.

_Emerald starlight._

That's what she was.

From out of the sky, rain started to fall, dappling the top of his hat with soft plops. Within seconds, the rain raced slantwise on a hard wind. Thunder grumbled behind streaks of distant lightning.

Cole frowned as he looked up into the falling rain before disappearing and reappearing in the grand library that was completely empty. He stood for a second surrounded by bookcases, his wet hat pulled low on his forehead, rain dripping from the wide brim. The damp had soaked its way through his armor, and his boots were wet and soaked through his socks.

His wet hand lifted to take off his hat and place it in front of the fire to dry off. He tore a piece of cloth from the wall and used it to clean the grime, sweat, and death from his hands. Once he thought his hands were clean enough, he took the flowers out of his pocket.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On a strum of strings from a bard, the room began into a waltz and Ember watched the glittering crowd come together in the ballroom. She leaned back against the wall at the back of the ballroom, as far as she could get from Cullen and that terrible awkwardness, her head connecting with a soft thud. In front of her, men and women danced and twirled in a swirl of flamboyant skirts and masked faces.

Everyone around her glittered and shimmered as they moved gracefully around her, some more garish and gaudy than others. In perfect contrast to all the ridiculous masks, feathers, furs and silks, Ember's sensible clothing looked dowdy. It made her feel more helplessly out of her depth, more isolated, more miserable. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" A masked girl murmured snidely to the girls huddled around her, aware that Ember could hear her. "She looks more like a man than a woman. And who picked out that dress, a blind guy who hates her?" The girl's minions giggled as they watched Ember closely, as if eager to see her bleed.

Afraid that if she stayed in this room for another second she would punch someone, Ember headed for the door that would lead her out of the ballroom, but the masked girl who'd just mocked her stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Inquisitor, before you meet the Empress I think you should change your clothes." There were giggles from the group of girls not far away.

Ember blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

The young woman fought a smirk as she said, "It will not make a good impression for the Inquisition to have its so called leader meet the Queen of Orlais wearing sackcloth." The giggles increased from the pack of hyenas. "A dress like mine, for example, would be more appropriate, don't you think?"

"Not really," Ember replied as she ran her eyes critically over the girl's costly dress. "That expensive material can't hide the lack of quality beneath."

There was a collective gasp and then silence from the pack of hyenas, and the young woman's eyes were like slits as they narrowed on her. "What did you just say?"

Ember shrugged. "Beauty is skin deep, but you're ugly to the bone."

Before the young woman could throw another barb, Ember picked up the skirt of her gown - hands shaking, lips tight - and made for the ballroom's grand archway without meeting anyone's eyes. Salvation was just outside in the hall, and she pushed open the door and headed for the grand library where she needed to search for the assassin anyway.

She wanted this mission over. She had to get out of here. She needed to go home to Skyhold. She needed to get away from these people. Fast. The hallway spun and she fought to settle her stomach. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, knowing she couldn't leave and was stuck here until the mission was done.

Minutes later, and she was in the safety of the grand library that smelled faintly of dust and damp. The Inquisitor stood poised in the doorway for some long, immeasurable seconds, looking around the room that was cool, quiet, and seemingly empty. Row upon row of books lined the tall shelves on the walls. On one wall was a fireplace of stone where fragrant wood sizzled. Her nerves began to calm when the air that greeted her smelled of leather-bound tomes, inkwells, and logs burning in the fireplace.

All thoughts fled from her mind and every cell in her body sighed with relief when she saw shaggy blonde hair and familiar black leather armor. Cole stood with his back to her in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames, with a solitary quality surrounding him.

He hadn't noticed her enter the room and she took the time to stare at him. It was the first time she'd seen him since last night and she couldn't seem to take enough of him in.

Then without warning, he turned his head, looked over his shoulder and directly into Ember's eyes.

 **Author's Note** : The dress Ember wears is like the dress Merida wears in the Disney move Brave. 

 **Solas Translations** :

 _Elgar_ : "Spirit."

 _Mana_ _atish'all_ _lathbora viran_ : "Stop from entering the path to a place of lost love."

 _Fenedhis lasa_ : A common curse.

 _Dirthara-ma enfanim mala vhenan'ara_ : "May you learn to fear your heart's desire."


	24. The Winter Palace: Part 2

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_

_Make me to rest in the warmest places_

_\- Transfigurations 12_

"You have no idea how good it is to see you," the Inquisitor sighed as she approached Cole, needing his company after the hell she'd just gone through in the ballroom.

Cole turned to face her and abruptly stopped dead, his back snapping straight, his eyes falling away from hers. Her stomach muscles tightened at his slow, heated perusal, as if he was cataloging each feature of her face and curve of her body. No other person had ever looked at her the way Cole looked at her - with a slow, dragging absorption.

When his eyes eventually crawled their way back up to hers, he stared at her slack-jawed with a slightly dazed look on his face.

Ember wrinkled her nose. "What's… what's wrong?" she asked self-consciously as she tucked a blood-red curl behind her ear. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"So bright. You  _shine_." His voice was breathy, his eyes still running over her, dark like the ocean during a thunderstorm, deep and tempestuous. "Your light makes my chest ache."

A warm blush spread up her cheeks, and she grinned with unabashed delight, never having received such a sincere complement. Ember didn't have any real pretensions toward beauty, but she couldn't doubt the admiration in Cole's eyes.

Feeling confident for the first time that night, she walked toward him with a sway to her hips. She couldn't help the smirk that formed on her lips when Cole tracked her like prey, pivoting around to keep her in view.

She stopped a few feet in front of him. "So, how was your night? What do you think of the nobles?"

His eyes widened in dismay. "Masks. Everywhere. Their faces talk even when they aren't moving. Silk on satin on skin, always wanting, chaste but chased. Too many." He shook his head, as if unable to understand. "They have faces inside their faces. A face to the world and a face within. Lying with a layer that tells the truth. I don't know how to help them."

"You tried to help." She shrugged. "That's what matters."

"A woman tripped on purpose. The man who caught her left the room. They didn't want my help." He shifted on his feet. "A fallen fan can cut like a kiss, breath from the wrong boy on the nape of the neck. I helped until they made me stop. Now they've all forgotten."

"At least the other members of the Inquisition seem to be doing well."

"Not all," Cole replied. "Cullen is afraid. So afraid. They're hunting him, following fear. He shouldn't be here."

Ember threw her fiery head back and laughed. It wasn't a soft, feminine laugh like the noble women in the ballroom. It was a real laugh – loud and unguarded, deep in the gut – and the sound of it made Cole's eyes glitter with warmth.

"Cullen shouldn't be here, but Leliana should," Cole continued. "She slips into the act with her many faces. When she puts on a new one, she changes all the way down."

Ember's laughter trickled to nothing and she wiped at her eyes. "I know. Leliana's in her element tonight. But I think she… what's that?" she asked, pointing at a mysterious object in Cole's hand, which he was hiding behind his back.

"Oh… this," he said nervously, looking down uneasily and pulling the object out. "The old woman said I should give it to you," he uttered timidly, blushing a light pink before thrusting the handful of flowers at her.

The little blue flowers were crushed and trampled at an odd angle in his sweaty hand from being stuffed in his armor, their flattened and torn petals falling to the floor at his shifting feet.

Speechless, she tenderly took the stems in her hand, more petals falling to the ground, until only one flower remained with five little blue petals and a yellow center. With a soft smile, she traced her finger upon the velvety petals with adoration.

"Your face changed," he observed nervously. "Are you mad at me or hungry?"

"I'm happy," she answered quietly, honestly, before looking up at him. "Thank you, Cole. This was very thoughtful of you. I've… I've never been given flowers before."

His eyes became bright and a radiant smile of satisfaction grew on his lips until it was wide and boyish with unfettered glee. His smile deepened the grooves either side of his mouth, making him look even more adorable.

Ember plucked the only remaining flower from the others and tucked it in her hair behind her ear. Quiet admiration and pride painted his features as he eyed the flower in her hair.

The melodic strains of the bards playing their lutes, flutes, and guitars in the ballroom drifted across the palace to them.

His lashes lifted, his eyes tethering hers. "Dance?"

Ember blinked. "What?"

He swallowed anxiously, as if expecting her rejection. "Dance… with me?"

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline in surprise. " _You_  want to dance?"

"No," he answered honestly, shifting his weight uneasily. "Dancing is hard. You have to listen with your feet as well as your heart."

Her lips quirked. "And not poke around in the heads of the other dancers."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "There's a lot to do all at once."

Her head tilted and she asked, "If you don't like dancing, why are you asking me to dance?"

For an endless moment, impaling blue eyes held hers. "An excuse to hold you."

The soft sound of his voice settled at the base of her spine like a warm pool of slowly spreading honey.

An eternity seemed to pass before the bards began to play a fast song in the ballroom, the notes floating to them in the library.

Without asking her permission, Cole stepped into her and placed one hand on her lower back and took hold of her hand with the other, holding it up. Ember's free hand went to his shoulder as she'd seen the women do in the ballroom as he began moving her awkwardly across the library.

And… oh, Maker… Cole was dancing like he fought – quick step, quick step, lung. Quick step, quick step, lung.

Ember's heart squeezed tightly. Maker's breath! Cole was so unbelievably adorable. His face was all scrunched up in concentration, his eyes staring down at his stumbling feet, his body impossibly taut as he appeared to be fighting her like she was an opponent, except her hand was in his instead of his dagger. Sweet Andraste, she didn't know if she was going to laugh or cry.

"Am I… am I doing it wrong?" he asked nervously, his eyes remaining locked on his faltering feet, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

She didn't have the heart to say yes.

"No. It's perfect," she replied softly, and it was the truth.

The fast-paced song ended and was immediately followed by the strains of a slow, mellow-sounding ballad about a nightingale's eyes.

Cole came to an abrupt halt at the change in tune, his collarbone bumping into her nose. She watched his throat swallow. Her gaze dragged up his throat to be trapped by his own.

As they began to sway slowly to the soft music, his arms fell to encircle her waist. Ember's hands gripped his upper arms. She rested her cheek against his chest where she could hear the rapid thudding of his heart. Cole rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, and she heard him breathe in the scent of her hair while he played with the ends, his fingers inadvertently brushing the small of her back.

It felt good dancing body-to-body like this, with his sharp angles molded to her while they swayed to the music. Ember's eyes closed languidly. He smelled like rain and cinnamon. She didn't care that the damp of his armor was soaking into the front of her dress. She fit against him so perfectly. Their hearts beating together. His thighs moving against hers. His narrow hips…  _Oh, Maker!_

The song ended and they stopped moving, but she remained caught against him.

She heard a sound in the distance and, fearing it was the assassin, she started to slip from his arms, but they tightened around her.

"Don't move." His voice was a bare rasp of sound. "I just want… I just want to hold you. Just for a little bit longer.  _Please_."

She let him hold her and with each intake of breath, her chest rose to brush against his.

After a long pause, Ember drew back from him and raised her gaze to his.

Even in the semidarkness she could see him well enough. The fireplace spilled a golden light over the library, illuminating his sharply cut features. But it was his gaze that she felt like a physical blow.

He was staring at her with such unblinking intensity that it hurt to hold his gaze. So piercing. So burning. All-consuming. He was looking at her like… like she was…  _all_ … everything… center of his universe…

"I love the way you look at me." She didn't even realize she'd spoken out loud until she heard the husky sound of her voice.

His head titled, eyes stroking hers. "How do I look at you?" His voice had deepened and roughened, his warm, hint-of-cinnamon breath caressing her face.

She swallowed. "As if the rest of Thedas could fall away and you wouldn't notice."

Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips, her heart thundering in her chest as he brushed the pad of his thumb where her tongue had just been, leaving her with this hot, thrumming feeling.

"You didn't hurt me that night, Cole," she said abruptly against the calloused pad of his thumb. "Not really."

His eyes meshed with hers as his thumb left her lips to take a curl between his fingers, rubbing it between them.

"I know," he whispered. "I see now. Varric helped me understand that there was blood and pain, but it wasn't real."

Her brows furrowed. "So, what's wrong?"

His expression shuttered. "Everything."

She flicked her eyes away and sucked in a breath before letting them return, speaking in a thready voice, "Tell me, Cole, what did you feel that night, when you were inside me?"

His eyes held hers for an infinitesimal moment.

"Real." It was a rough-toned declaration that seemed to vibrate inside of his chest. " _Alive_."

She felt an invisible hand suddenly reach inside her and clutch at her insides and squeeze.

She waited a beat before asking, "And since that night… have you felt alive?"

He tucked the curl behind her ear, baring her throat to his hand. His fingers fell, spreading along the edge of her jaw, tilting it up so he could stare down into her, his heavily-lidded eyes bluer than she'd ever seen them.

"I've been the wrong shape." It came out strained and gruff. "Empty, nothing, lifeless."

Her breath quickened, thickened as she leaned into him. "Let me, Cole." Her voice was soft, drugging.

His hand immediately fell away from her jaw, withdrawing. She saw the darkening of his eyes before he clenched them shut, his teeth clenched as if he was fighting with himself. He looked weary from what she knew was an endless inner struggle of wanting and not letting himself have.

Ember latched on his weariness like it was a lifeline, knowing she could use it to bash through that wall he'd erected between them.

She leaned in to him until her lips were just a breath away from his. "Let me make you feel alive."

His eyes snapped open and her breath choked off. His eyes… it was like looking into the heart of a fire – blue flecks leaping and dancing like tongues of flames, a predatory burn scorching her to the bone.

Oh, Maker… that  _look_ … it made her want him so much, a raw ache in her gut.

"What are you so afraid of?" she whispered.

His hands shot out and cased her face, his mouth slamming down on hers.

It happened so fast. It caught her off guard. She gasped and he inhaled the sound, consuming the air in her lungs. Warm hands held her face as his tongue broke the barrier of her lips, slipping into her mouth, before retreating and then come back again as if for another taste, as if he couldn't get enough.

"What am I afraid of?" he rasped harshly, his mouth still touching hers, his lips caressing her with every word.

"This." His hands ran possessively down the sides of her face. "This."

Her hands clenched his armor in two tight fists, yanking him closer so her mouth could latch onto his again.

With utter surrender, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, kissing her like it was sustenance for his soul.

Maker yes! This was what she wanted. After days of trying, she'd finally broken through to him - and discovered herself unprepared yet excited for the need and desperation of his kiss.

With his hands casing her face, his mouth never left hers as he walked her a few feet until she bumped into the bookcase behind her, knocking a few books off the shelf to land on the floor with a sound that echoed in the stillness of the silence around them.

Feeling so needy her skin felt too tight for her body, frantic for more of him, she bit into his bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth, wishing she could pull him straight into her.

With a low, tearing groan, he forced her legs apart with his knee, his mouth fastening on hers with a wild hunger that seemed to want to devour her. His fingers pressed into her cheeks as he moved her head where he wanted her, to the best angles so he could get to the parts of her mouth he wanted to reach, to taste.

When her mouth broke free of his to suck in a deep breath, his mouth latched onto the skin of her exposed throat. A moan escaped her as his lips caressed her neck, his knee rubbing her between her thighs, his hand dragged slowly down the middle of her sternum. His hand continued to drag down her body to palm her hip and squeeze.

"I'm sorry." His voice was rough and shaken, apologetic. "No control… can't… can't slow… can't stop…" His voice was nothing but hoarse breathlessness as his teeth scraped lightly down the line of her throat.

His hand moved back up over her ribcage to cover the swell of her breast. Her eyes snapped open, her labored breathing breaking on a cry, the layers of clothing doing nothing to diminish the waves of heat that shot straight through every cell of her body.

"You like this," he uttered into her neck as he softly kneaded her flesh with his long, dexterous fingers. "I remember."

Her back immediately arched like a bow, every thought in her head scattering like startled crows in the rookery. She was so hot, oxygen hard to catch, her hips rolling wildly under her skirts, grinding frantically against his knee.

"If you stop, I'll kill you," she growled, a woman pressed beyond her limits, kissing every inch of his skin she could find.

Needing to touch him in return, her hands began yanking on his cuirass, trying to pull it up his torso. He wrenched the thing off, and as it hit the floor with a thud, she grinned with satisfaction at his urgency.

His bare torso was pale and smooth, muscles rippling beneath satiny, snowy-white skin. She scoured his flat stomach with greedy hands and a sound of male desperation broke free of him, halfway between a moan of satisfaction and a dark plea.

When her hands began to dip beneath the top of his leather pants, he took her wrists in his hands and pressed them against the bookcase above her head. His body surged against her, his hips and thighs pinning her beneath him. With a hard flex of his expression, his forehead fell against hers, staring at her with eyes that were wide and wild, his pupils so dilated they looked almost black. His breath came in sharp spurts against her face, his bare chest rising and falling against hers with every breath he was struggling to find.

His hands left her wrists to slide slowly up to take her hands. Their fingers entwined, folding and caressing, then interlocking against the bookcase over her head. He kept his forehead pressed firmly against hers, eyes never leaving hers, as a roll of his hips ground every hard inch of him against the soft notch between her legs.

A rough, unhinged sound vibrated in the back of his throat and Ember strained against the hands that kept her wrists pinned to the bookcase. Her blood had caught fire. She was panting now, each inhale short and shallow, each exhale a soft whimper as he rolled his hips against hers again.

"Take my body," she pleaded, begged. "Make it yours."

He instantly released her hands to pull frantically at her skirts, but there were so many layers to get through.

"Skin?" he muttered, crouching down in front of her - urgent, clumsy, and impatient to get under her skirts. "Where's your skin?"

Moments later, he released a sigh of relief when his hands touched her bare skin beneath the layers of skirts. He stood then, slowly, his hands dragged up the backs of her calves, her knees, her thighs, her skirts bunching up around her waist. Ember quivered out a constricted gasp as he hooked a finger under the hem of her smalls and pulled, causing the thin fabric to snap against her heated skin and fall to the ground.

"I am parchment." Cole pulled back slightly to look down at her, his expression a dark mask, the skin drawn tight across his cheekbones, emphasizing the harshness of his face. "You are fire."

He squeezed the backs of her thighs, his arms flexing, and her feet lifted easily off the ground. Instinctively, her legs wrapped themselves around his tapered waist, her arms going around his neck as he propped her up against the bookcase, bracing his knees beneath her, every part of her body coming into contact with his. His lips slanted across hers, his tongue parting her lips and delving into her mouth.

"Keep burning me," he groaned into her mouth, low and tormented.

He kissed her,  _hard_. The harder he kissed her, the harder she kissed back, until it was an urgent fever of lips and teeth. Desperately he rubbed himself against her core, his hips thrusting against her, digging the rigid length of him harder between her thighs. Blood pounded through her head as she dug her nails into the skin of his bare back, clawing at him, needing more.

"Need to get into you," he growled as he pressed frantically ardent kisses to her temples, her cheeks, her chin, every inch of skin he could reach as she ripped at his belt as if demons possessed her, needing him to assuage the savage ache between her thighs.

She let his belt drop to the floor with a loud thud. Instantly, she reached for the laces of his leather pants.

Maker's breath how she wanted this, needed it, how she-

His palm suddenly lifted to cup the side of her head and roughly shoved it to the side right as something whizzed past her ear and stuck in the bookshelf beside her head with a resounding thud. A single dagger was embedded in the spine of a book inches from her face.

Before she could blink, Cole shifted her weight to one arm under the backs of her thighs and used his free hand to rip the dagger from the book, and spun around with inhuman speed to throw the dagger into what she assumed was a body judging by the sound of torn flesh and the grunt of pain followed by the fresh scent of blood.

Staring at the bookcase she'd been pressed against, Ember tried to look over her shoulder to see the danger at her back, but stopped when she felt Cole's hand run up the side of her bare leg to unsheathe the hidden dagger strapped to her thigh.

She felt him lunge forward and she squeezed her thighs tight around his waist, her arms locked around his neck, and held on for dear life as Cole fought whoever it was and however many there were with her dagger in his free hand. She clenched every muscle in her body in an effort to hold her own weight so his movements wouldn't be hindered.

Her body jerked and shifted with his fluid movements as he ducked and dodged and struck out with her dagger. She heard the clang of metal and the grunts of effort, and felt the occasional spray of blood on her back.

The tip of a blade nicked the fabric covering her shoulder, tearing it, exposing the skin of her shoulder. She began to squirm to try and get him to release her so she could fight, but his fingers bit into the outside of her thigh, refusing to let her down.

"Let me down so I can fight," she hissed in his ear.

"No," was the darkly uttered reply.

She nearly gasped when she felt her spine press against an enemies back, but then she felt Cole's arm jerk powerfully and sharply in a horizontal slash and heard the gurgle of blood and the crumbling of a body to the ground and knew he'd just slit someone's throat from behind.

When it seemed the fight was over, she relaxed for a second before the hand holding her dagger tangled in her hair, jerked her head back, and his lips slammed down over hers, hard and fierce, shattering her like a brick thrown at a mirror.

His hand tightened in her curls and he dragged her head back farther, his lips at her chin, her jaw, nipping and licking, before tearing ravenously at her mouth again, forcing her lips apart with his tongue as his arm jerked to the side and her dagger landed in the skull of the last assassin a few yards away, without him even looking or slowing in his frantic need to discover every inch of her mouth.

Within a breath she was flattened against the bookshelf and his body again, his mouth never leaving hers for a second. Her need for release was almost painful, and she couldn't move quickly enough, her fingers scrambled to undo the laces on his leather pants.

Cole pulled back from her suddenly, his face set in violent lines, his body coiled as if preparing for another fight. The raging inferno within her was doused when Cole abruptly dropped her and her legs slid off his hips to land wobbly on the ground, stumbling against the bookcase as she suddenly found herself pushed behind a solid wall of lean muscle. His firm hand held her anchored behind him.

Ember couldn't see beyond the back of Cole's shaggy blonde head, but she could hear his tightly controlled voice chill the air by a few thousand degrees. "I don't want to hurt you, but I won't let you harm her."

Ember placed her hand on Cole's arm, feeling the muscles clench taut beneath her fingers. She poked her head out, peering around his towering frame to see what horrible creature was coming for them.

The room was empty.

Well, except for the peculiar looking raven with the strange yellow eyes that was perched on a low hanging wooden beam.

Utterly confused, she blinked once. Twice. "Cole, are you speaking to the…  _bird_?"

Ember gasped when the raven flew toward them and shifted in mid-air into a mysterious and exotic-looking woman with unnatural yellow eyes and dark mauve lips. Her raven-black hair was pulled back into a loose bun with a sweep of long bangs draped across her striking face. Smooth pale shoulders were bare in a strapless floor-length ball gown of black and dark red velvet, with gold embroidery and a low-cut neckline.

"Well, well… what have we here?" The stunning woman's voice was low and throaty, and mocking. "The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself." Yellow eyes lined with black shadow flickered over Ember with mirth and intrigue. "You… have been very busy this evening. Moments ago you were very, very  _busy_ ," she murmured with humor as she approached them with a leisurely ease, hips swaying, booted feet stepping over a body.

Cole's grip on Ember tightened, keeping her safely tucked behind him as the abnormal woman drew closer to them.

At his subtle act of protectiveness, the woman's eyes shifted to Cole, appraising him with keen curiosity and caution. "Tis a dangerous companion you keep, Inquisitor," the woman drawled as she watched them, like a hawk, eying Cole up and down with great interest, causing Ember's hackles to rise. "A very dangerous and most intriguing creature this one is."

The woman was tall and graceful as she came to stand in front of Cole, though her yellow eyes settled on Ember as she peeked around Cole's lanky form. "I can see why you keep him so…  _close_. Temptation lying in the forbidden, yes?"

Ember's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Morrigan." Her head tilted forward slightly. "Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane."

Aqua eyes widened with recognition. "Leliana told me about you. You're the swamp witch who left the Warden right after the battle with the Archdemon."

The woman's eyes turned frosty. "Do not lecture me, for you know nothing of me or what happened between me and the Warden. Twas her decision to make."

Ember folded her arms. "That's not what your sister said."

Those yellow eyes glowed with vehemence. "How could you know such a thing?"

She answered simply, "I met her after escaping Seheron."

Shocked, the witch inquired, "Truly, you know of Yavana?"

"Yes, I've met the Beast of the Tellari swamps."

Morrigan chuckled. "Tis' most humorous the names the women of my family are given." With a derisive scoff, she asked, "Tell me, is Yavana still busy reviving dragons?"

With a nod, Ember answered, "She is."

"Fool," the witch snapped.

Ember's eyes narrowed on her. "You don't like your sister, do you?"

"Besides the fact that she is a complete and utter bitch, no, I don't like her at all." Her expression twisted with resentment and scorn. "My sister plays with her little dragons and thinks she wields more power than I.  _I_ , who've prowled shadows that she could never even dream existed. But my sister matters not," the woman scoffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I have been watching you as you hunt in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey."

One red eyebrow rose. "Do we?"

"Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very walls. An agent of Tevinter." Her arms folded. "So I offer you this, Inquisitor: A key found on the Tevinter's body. Where that key leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can."

The witch attempted to hand Ember the key, but Cole shifted to keep Ember behind him and took the key himself.

The witch chuckled softly at him. "Tis a noble act, demon. But I do not wish to harm the Inquisitor."

Cole's voice was as sharp as a blade. "You are neither here nor there. You are nowhere. I don't believe you."

"You are required to do nothing, least of all, believe," the woman replied, a hint of her power crackling around her, as if in warning. "We all have our parts to play, demon. After the show you two just gave, tis easy to tell which part you play."

Ember looked down at the key as Cole handed it to her. "Briala's people are whispering about disappearances in the servants' quarters. This key may lead there."

"The ambassador does have eyes and ears everywhere, does she not?" Yellow eyes flickered to Cole, revealing the depth of her disquiet and apprehension. "Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. And I speak not only of your enemies aligned with Tevinter."

With that the woman shifted back into a raven and flew off.

Ember sighed as she pocketed the key, knowing their little distraction was over. "I guess we should head for the servants' quarters."

Cole nodded, his features looking strained. He turned and walked over to his cuirass, pulling it back on and then his belt.

With roasting cheeks, Ember walked over to her torn smalls lying on the ground and stuffed them into her bodice, making one breast seem larger than the other, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to leave her underwear lying on the ground in the grand library of the Winter Palace.

She walked over to Cole and together they headed for the door, but they stopped when they heard the slight crunch of something under Cole's booted foot. Cole's body froze, as if he'd been hit with a Winter's Grasp.

Curious, she watched him as he slowly lifted his foot, as if he feared to see what he'd stepped on. His eyes widened as he stared down at the last forget-me-not that had been in her hair, which was now crushed beneath his boot.

"It's okay, Cole," she said softly, trying to reassure him. "We can always get more blue leeches."

His eyes snapped to hers, wide and fearful. "W-What did you say?"

Her eyebrows furrowed at his terrified look. "We can always get more blue leeches," she repeated.

He silently crouched down on the balls of his feet, trying to put the torn petals back onto the stem, but they fell back to the floor with each desperate attempt.

"Blue leeches. That's what my mother always called forget-me-nots because they are really a weed," Ember said. "She said all gardeners hate forget-me-nots. But that never stopped me from loving them. I know what it's like to be hated by people simply for being what you are. They are my favorite flower."

"But I… I destroyed the last one," he murmured softly, so softly, fear prominent in his tone. "And the old woman said…"

After a long pause, his expression suddenly shifted into rigid resolve as he let the flowers fall to the floor. "She was wrong."

Cole stood and walked tautly to the fireplace. He bent down and collected his hat off the floor and put it on, pulling the brim low over his eyes.

"He won't take you," he declared, his tone impassioned and his determination fierce. "I won't let him."

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Hold Me Down_ by Halsey. BioWare released some comic books that featured Morrigan's sister Yavana. She's cool. 


	25. Abelas

_Now her hand is raised_

_A sword to pierce the sun_

_With iron shield she defends the faithful_

_Let chaos be undone_

_\- Victoria 1:3_

At the Temple of Mythal in the Arbor Wilds, the Inquisitor lay face down in the grass, her body covered in bruises and gashes and sweat. She had no mana, no focus, and soon no more blood. But she didn't feel any pain, just absolute numbness.

Ember sucked in a breath, inadvertently taking in grass, dirt, and a bug into her mouth. With a strength she didn't think she had, she managed to push herself to her knees. Colors flashed before her eyes and she groaned when she felt the ribs that were most assuredly broken. She could hear someone screaming her name, but the sound was overpowered by the incessant ringing in her ears. She blinked several times to clear the dots that painted her vision. She turned her chin to the side and spit cold, bitter-tasting blood from her mouth. She staggered to her feet, the movement excruciating, and the dizziness in her battered head made her nauseous.

Deafening explosions of grenades and magic came from the battle raging around her. She stared around herself, trying to make sense of the images that swirled around her like fog: Morrigan in the distance fighting Abelas in front of the Well of Sorrows. Cassandra passed out on the ground, bleeding freely, barely breathing. Solas shooting spell after spell at Samson to keep the Red Templar leader from getting close enough to run her through with his sword and obtaining vengeance for the death of his sister.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was…

Her head turned, the world blurring for a second. Her vision cleared. Her breath stalled. Her heart plummeted.

A short distance away Cole was on his knees, thrashing from side to side with his hands pressed against his temples, as if he was fighting an unseen enemy inside his head, warding off invisible blows. What she could see of his face was contorted; he was trying to draw breath and scream in pain at the same time.

And standing before him, with red glowing hands extended toward Cole, was Livius Erimond, a Venatori magister working for Corypheus. He was using blood magic on Cole. He was hurting him. He was  _torturing_  him.

"Stop!" she shrieked – panicked, terrified, furious - her legs barely able to hold her weight from where she stood a few yards away. "If he dies, you will be next!"

Those black eyes shifted to her, malevolence and mirth gleaming. "But he will still be a demon bound to Corypheus," Erimond answered coolly with an evil smile perched on his face. "I have bound so many before and I will bind him too, even if it's the last thing I do!"

Alarm shot like a thousand sharp needles through her. Her face drained of color, her body swayed, her whole world tilting sideways as if it was trying to tip her off as she suddenly realized he was using the binding ritual on Cole!

The Inquisitor went a little crazy then, red rimming her vision when she saw the red glow around the magister's hands brighten and blood began seeping from Cole's eyes, ears and nose, running along his arms and dripping from his elbows onto the ground.

Everything—  _everything_  living inside her— slammed to a stark, shuddering stop and then died when his shaggy blonde head fell back and he  _screamed_.

That sound… it would haunt her to her grave.

Everything was forgotten, swept away in an internal storm of fear, hatred, fury, and mindless violence. Her eyes flashed white-hot lightning as she thrust one hand forward and a large forearm with metaled gauntlets appeared in the air over the magister's head, shooting down to latch onto Erimond's right shoulder.

Those black eyes shot to her in surprise, utterly shocked that she was able to use magic, rightfully frightened of what she was about to do to him.

A deranged sort of madness lurked in her eyes as she thrust her other hand forward and another arm shot down from out of thin air to latch onto Erimond's left shoulder. Stark horror was written all over his face, murder all over hers as she ripped her hands apart and the hands holding his shoulders yanked in opposite directions, tearing Erimond's body in half, right down the middle, as if he were made of parchment.

Ember's legs immediately gave out as all strength left her and she crumpled to the grass in a heap. With her legs bent behind her at an odd angle and her upper body lying on its side on the ground, she watched the magic that gripped Cole fade.

As if in slow motion, Cole fell forward, tumbling toward the earth to land face down in the ground, his body lathered with blood and twitching as if electrocuted.

Her eyelashes fluttered, fighting to stay conscious. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Solas racing after Samson as the Red Templar made his escape. She saw Cassandra still on the ground, but drinking a health potion. She saw Morrigan drinking from the Well of Sorrows, taking its knowledge away from Corypheus.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was…

Unable to find the strength to stand, Ember dug her fingers into the grass and pulled herself across the field. She dragged herself inch by inch until she was beside Cole's unmoving body. Blood, sweat, and dirt had mingled on her face by the time she reached his side.

Ember gently turned Cole over onto his back, fearing the worst. Her heart clenched, a sob catching in her throat as she stared down into his face that was a bloody mask. She couldn't even make out his features. His muscles convulsed in agony, tiny whimpers coming from him as he writhed from side to side on the grass.

Her hand trembled as it rose to her bloodless lips, the image of his face and body bathed in so much of his own blood blurring with the tears filling her eyes. "Maker's breath," she gasped against her quaking fingertips, her voice tight and thick. "What has he done to you?"

Cole blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he did it with difficulty, as though his eyelids were very, very heavy. "Hu… hu…  _hurts_." The pained little whimper crucified her ears.

Ember's hands were fluttering urgently over Cole's bloody face, over his spasming stomach, his chest that was having trouble rising and falling. "What?" she asked, barely able to hear him.

"Every… where…" Another agonized, weak whimper fell out of his mouth as he writhed on the ground in torment.

"Lie still, Cole! Please… please lie still!" she cried frantically, a terrible powerlessness filling her with a sickening horror that turned her flesh to ice. "I don't know how to heal! Dammit, I don't know how to heal! I don't… I'll get health potions… I… there's a healer back at the camp… I'll… I'll…" she trailed off when he shook his head.

"…don't get…" He winced as his throat worked. "…too close…"

Her eyes widened. "W-What?"

"Get… back…" his voice trailed off into a moan of pain, his body wracked by convulsions.

She reached for his hand, not understanding. His shaking fingers that were soaked in his own blood closed around hers hard enough to bruise.

"Run… from… me…" His breath rasped from between his lips, his face going paler by the second. "Am… broken… bound…"

Her blurred vision grew worse while a rushing filled her ears. "I'm not going anywhere."

Cole's mouth struggled to find words. "Please…" His eyes closed in pain, opened again, beseeching and fearful. "Don't want to… hurt you…"

She shook her head fiercely, tears flying off her cheeks and chin with the sharp movements. "I won't leave you." She brushed the sweaty blonde strands that were dripping crimson from his face, her eyes wet and shimmering as she uttered softly, "Wherever there is you, there will be me too. Right?"

His muscles tightened, clenched, before convulsing in torturous jerks. Whimpers of pain through clenched teeth spilled out of him. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot. "Can't hide! It's in my skin! It's in my skin!" he shrieked and started clawing at his own arms, tearing bloody streaks in his skin, screaming, "Get it out! Get it out!"

She gripped his arms and pressed them into the grass at his sides to stop him from peeling off his skin, but he didn't suspend motion for an instant. He jerked, twitched, and then convulsed one last time before his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his lids fluttered before falling deathly still.

"Oh, Maker! Cole!" Her harsh cry sounded hoarse and stricken and grievously bewildered. " _COLE_!"

A sob broke free of her lips, feeling weak, worthless, utterly useless. She was trapped in a terrifyingly black void of wretched helplessness. She could feel her heart pounding in wild fear. It throbbed in her chest, her head—thundered in her ears. She'd never felt so hopelessly helpless in her entire life - not since she was eight-years-old and strung up by chains to the rafters of the family barn and repeatedly whipped by her father for being born a mage.

She noticed hazily that both Cole and the world around her began to fog in and out. Her head ached something fierce, bright balls of pain propelling themselves at the backs of her eyelids. She bowed her head over his body. She was slowly bleeding out from a thousand cuts and her head felt so very heavy on her shoulders.

Unable to hold herself upright anymore, she slowly crumbled forward, the side of her head coming to rest on his chest. Her blood-red curls spilled all around her, covering his chest and throat, the dark red color of her hair mixing seamlessly with the blood pouring out of him. His warm blood pressed sticky to her cheek and chin that began to quiver as she heard his moans echoing inside his chest, his breathing ragged and unsteady and growing shallower with each struggled breath.

Her heart wrenched painfully, fear and desperation mounting within her. Everything grew painfully still – Cole's chest, her breath, the world around them. In that long moment of complete stillness, oblivion hovered, waiting for her to give into it and let unconsciousness take her away.

After what felt like a lifetime, there was a sudden movement in her periphery vision followed by a man's curse and a dizzying blur of movement before someone was turning her over and lifting her into their arms.

"I got you Inquisitor," she heard Blackwall's voice whisper down to her. "The cavalry is here."

Ember's head lagged to the side, the muscles in her neck suddenly so weak she couldn't hold her head upright even when leaning against Blackwall's shoulder.

"Co…le…" the name was nearly inaudible.

Blackwall spoke softly down at her, "Don't worry, Bull's got him."

"Help… Cole." Her eyes rolled back into her head. "Nothing else… m-matters."

 _Nothing else matters_ , Ember repeated—though only inside her head where a strange tumbling darkness was gathering, closing around her like a cold mist that began to take her consciousness from her.

And then everything faded to black as Blackwall leapt through the Eluvian with her in his arms.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"With an Eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh," Leliana stated grimly in the War Room.

Cullen asked, "What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?"

Morrigan replied haughtily, "Why, he will gain his heart's desire and take the power of a god. Or, and this is more likely, the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart."

"But we destroyed the Eluvian at the Temple of Mythal," Josephine retorted.

Cullen stated, "Yes. So all that remains is to find Corypheus."

Leliana frowned. "We've been looking for his base since all this began, with no success."

"I think I may be able to help you look," Morrigan provided.

"I want every source we have looking for Corypheus' base," the Inquisitor stated. "Meanwhile, I want our soldiers looked after. They just returned to Skyhold from the Arbor Wilds. I want them ready to march when we find the base."

Cullen looked to her, "Are we prepared for an attack on Corypheus's base?"

"I can match the darkspawn magister's dragon," Morrigan stated with unwavering confidence. "As for matching Corypheus… that is up to you, Inquisitor."

Ember looked down at the mark on her left hand. "Believe me, I know."

And with that, Ember turned and left the War Room wearing her superior hunter rogue armor. A few minutes later and she was walking out into the garden. Within seconds, her legs collapsed and she fell unceremoniously into a lone bench.

An unsteady hand lifted to her brow, a faint tremble shaking her. Exhaustion, nerves, and stress. She hadn't slept in days, barely eaten, sick with worry about Cole. He was still unconscious at the infirmary, had been since they'd travelled through the Eluvian from the Temple of Mythal to Skyhold.

Now, three days later, she was nearly losing her mind with concern. She couldn't bear another day of sitting at his bedside, watching his unconscious face, praying for him to wake up. She couldn't endure another restless night of sleep in the uncomfortable wooden chair beside his bed where she'd spent the past three nights.

She'd ordered every healer across the Orlesian Empire to Skyhold, even going so far as having Leliana's agents drag some of them whether they were willing to help or not. But none had been able to help him. She'd then had Leliana track down Rhys and Evangeline and strongly suggested they come to Skyhold to help Cole. Leliana's agents had found them and they were now escorting the ex-Knight Captain of the White Spire and Senior Enchanter who was known for his unrivaled healing abilities. A family trait, she assumed since he was Wynne's son. She could only pray to the Maker that they would get here in time and help Cole.

Ember scrubbed her face with her hands, her eyes feeling gritty. She was still so badly shaken by what had happened at the Temple of Mythal that when she thought of it she couldn't keep her shivering limbs still. She had been so afraid he was dead. There had been so much blood.

Her mouth trembled, cold and shivery like the rest of her because she still—still couldn't shrug off those horrifying seconds when she'd thought that Cole had died at her feet.

The mere thought left a gaping hole in her chest. The breath left her lungs, while a sudden ache burned her throat. She stared down at her right palm, which still pulsed with the reassuring beat of Cole's heart from when she'd laid it against his bleeding chest when they'd laid him on a cot in the infirmary.

Ember closed her eyes and saw the deep, blue chasms of Cole's eyes when he'd opened them and looked into her face. And his eyes had been too dark—as black as deep caverns hollowed into his skull. "Dear heart—get away from me…  _please_ …" he'd mouthed weakly, then he'd closed his eyes again and hadn't opened his eyes or spoken since.

The past few days had been the worst—very worst she'd ever experienced in her entire life. And she'd experienced some of the worst humanity had to offer.

"You're in the wrong place, Inquisitor."

Ember started, jumping to her feet, spinning around to find the old blind woman who sold flowers by the stables standing right beside her. Ember's voice cracked as her lips tumbled out a hushed, "I'm sorry?"

"You're in the wrong place," the old woman repeated, her eyes glossed over in a milky-white, her white hair frizzled. "He is not here."

"Oh… ugh… thank you," Ember replied, wondering if she was talking about Cole.

"Here, drink this," the old woman said as she thrust a glass of what looked like tea into her hands.

Ember took the glass with a quiet thank you and took a sip. It was tea with something else, something that tasted medicinal.

"You should spend every moment with that strange young man," the old woman muttered, giving her an odd smile that seemed sad, almost pitying. "You don't have much time left."

For a split second, the woman's white eyes flashed an unnatural yellow color that looked familiar, but it had happened so fast Ember wondered if she'd imagined it.

"Who are you?" Ember asked, suddenly very suspicious.

The old woman laughed, not sounding so old all of a sudden. "I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that you need not know."

"Okayyy…" Ember drawled in confusion as she watched the old woman laugh at herself as she walked away.

Ember sighed, running a hand over her tightly-coiled, red springy curls as she walked out of the garden and cut through the throne room, sipping from the glass in her hands. She took the stairs heading out of the throne room two at a time, heading for the infirmary.

"No," Solas rejected sharply with a hard slash of his hand as he crossed the grounds in front of the stairs leading out of the throne room, right in front of her.

"But you like demons!"

Her glass shattered against the stone steps, but she didn't care. All she could do was look down at the man walking beside Solas not five feet away from her. She could hardly believe her eyes.

It was Cole.

He was alive. He was awake. She couldn't believe it, but the proof of it was standing right in front of her. Six feet of long, lanky male, on his feet for the first time in days. He still looked like death, though. Ember suppressed the need to shudder. His face was still drawn by the ravages of the torture he'd endured and the binding spell that had nearly killed him.

Solas gritted out, "I enjoy the company of  _spirits_ , yes, which is why I don't abuse them with bindings."

"It isn't abuse if I ask!" Cole choked out.

"Not always true," Solas responded jerkily. "Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic."

The depthless feeling of relief at seeing Cole awake and seemingly recovered was replaced with a nerve-singing warning of apprehension. She found herself rushing down the steps toward them, barely able to hold herself back from throwing herself into Cole's arms. "What's going on here?"

Cole turned around and stomped toward her. He was angry. Very angry. His face was hard and white, his lips thin, his teeth clenched behind them as he stopped in front of her. "He won't bind me!" he nearly shouted at her through clenched teeth. "He's a mage and he likes demons, but he won't help!"

"Are you crazy?!" she gasped out in agitated breathlessness. "Why would you  _want_  Solas to bind you?!"

"So I'm safe!" he cried with desperation and she only then realized that he wasn't just angry, he was frightened, utterly terrified of being bound. "I can still  _feel_  Erimond trying to bind me! He wanted to make me a monster!" Cole cried with gut-wrenching fear. "The Elder One - when we fight him he will try to bind me too, and he can do it!  _He can do it_!"

Her insides felt shaky, and the nerves running along her spine were tingling as she reached for him, but Cole turned his back on her and stormed toward the entrance of Skyhold, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"If Solas won't do the ritual to bind me, the Elder one - or someone else - could…  _will_ … like the Warden mages and then… I'm not me anymore!" He turned his head, looked over his shoulder and directly at her with wide and wild, terror-stricken blue eyes and a dire expression that chilled the blood in her veins. "Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster!"

"Isn't it extreme for Solas to bind you?" she asked, a frowning black scowl on her face. "What if that takes away the part of you that makes you…  _you_?!"

Cole turned around to face her, his eyes gleaming like blue ice in his hard features. "Helping is what makes me who I am. I help the hurting. That is what I do.  _All_  I do… am… me!"

His words stung like a bitter-cold, violent wind biting into her skin. " _All_  you do?  _All_  you are?" she snapped crossly. "What about me?"

His mouth became flat. "Both demons and spirits need a purpose to exist, and mine is to help. That is my purpose. That is what I am meant for." He sounded gruff all of a sudden. "I want Solas to bind me so I'm safe. Will you help me or not?""

She bristled, smothering the hurt with her anger. "And if binding you erased your mind? Your consciousness?"

His eyes snapped up to hers. "You wouldn't make me hurt innocent people! Not like they would!" His face wore such a frightened and somber cast that the sight of it actually hurt something deep inside her. "I don't want to hurt innocent people again. Not like before. Not when you would look at me again like… like…"

Her eyes narrowed, her chin setting with unmoving resolve. "I will keep you safe. I will protect you. No one will bind you. No one. Do you hear me? I won't let them!"

"That's not good enough!" Cole bit out on a hushed, driven hiss of sizzling fury.

Her chin shot up at his harsh tone, her eyes flashing out a defiance that clashed head-on with his. "I'm not afraid of you."

He held her eyes with the burning intensity of his. "I am."

A thunderous silence bounced around them.

Solas cleared his throat and the sound surprised her. She'd completely forgotten he was still standing there. "There are amulets used by Ravaini seers to protect spirits they summon from rival mages," Solas stated. "A spirit wearing the amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect you as well, Cole. It is fortuitous that I am currently in possession of such an amulet."

"Good," Cole ground out, a hint of a flash spearing out from behind his long black eyelashes. "They will not take me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day, with her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, Ember walked into the atrium. It was empty except for Cole who was pacing the room like a caged tiger. She asked, "Are you sure you want to do this here?"

Cole stopped in his pacing and faced her. "Yes. It can go away if it becomes sharp."

She dug her hand into the pocket of her armor and pulled out the amulet Solas had given her. "This is it."

An inquisitive frown puckered his face. "What do we do with it?"

She shrugged. "It's simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected."

He looked nervous, really nervous.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Cole?"

Silence fell, one of those horrible awkward silences that grabbed at the air and choked it to death.

"They can't make me a monster."

She nodded once and then gathered her magic. She reached her mind across the Veil and summoned a flow of magic that she channeled into the amulet. There was an explosion of white-light and a blasting force of power that sent Cole flying backwards into the wall with a painful cry.

"Oh, Maker!  _Cole_!" she cried as she ran over to him. "Are you alright?!"

He stood leaning back against the wall, rubbing his brow. "It… it didn't work." His voice was low and constricted. "Something was… blocking me."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Something like you not being a demon?"

The question flicked at the muscle that lined his defined jawbone. "No."

"Open your eyes!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "The amulet doesn't work on you because you're too human!"

"No," he refused in a gravel-rough tone. "I left the Fade, but I am still a demon."

She huffed, "Yes, a demon that is strangely like a person. A human. A  _man_."

"Stop it!" he bellowed. "I don't matter!"

"You don't matter?  _You don't matter_?!" she screamed, stomping up to him where he was leaning back against the wall to poke him hard in the chest. "Nothing else in this world matters more!"

"Then help me!" he shouted down at her before stepping around her to move across the room, getting as far away from her as he could get. "I can be bound, bowed, old wounds broken. They can make me not me. Fear of falling. They can make me into a monster. They can make me hurt you. They can make me possess you!"

"No, they can't!" She spun away from the wall to face him, the volume of her voice surprising her. "Don't you get it? They have no power over you because you are too human!"

Cole shook his head furiously. "Blood magic can-"

"You are human, Cole!" she cut him off vehemently. "You cannot possess me, or anyone else, because that bloody ritual only works on demons.  _And you are no demon_!"

The words were barely out of her mouth when he moved so swiftly, she had no time to react. He appeared standing right in front of her, having moved across the room in the blink of an eye. The air crashed with tension as he placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, his arms like steel bars, and she could see the erratic pulse thudding in his neck.

"You're wrong," he rumbled lowly in a dark voice. "You know what I am. You've seen it in me. Something I can't see that is deep inside - heavy and black and blocking. Can't pretend I'm who you want me to be. Wearing another man's life, stealing second after second of a real life, bending truth to fit what I want."

"You  _are_  living a real life." Her voice was soft, gentle. "You came into this world to be a person, Cole. So be one."

"I didn't come into this world to be a person," he murmured rustily. He bent his head close so that his warm breath fanned her face, locks of gold falling to overshadow his eyes. "I first came into this world to hold your hand."

His words lanced through her and she felt something constrict in her heart. "You are human," she pressed stiffly. "But you are too wrapped up in your fear to see it."

Obstinate tension pulsed from every muscle in his face. "You are asking me to risk all I am…  _me_ … on that belief. But what if you're wrong? What if I become bound, something twisted and wrong and monstrous. How can I risk it if the cost is your life?" His expression changed to one of utter, absolute, jaw-locking resolve. "Won't let us become lost in shadow. Won't make you a monster!"

Her eyes skittered away from his. "There is no risk."

"Yes, there is," he replied, with hard, harsh bite.

Ember glanced up at him again. "You could never hurt me, Cole." One hand lifted to gently rest on his bicep while the other came up between them to lightly touch his jaw. "Because you care for me."

The muscles of his chest and biceps immediately became taut, bulging beneath her fingertips as his fingers pressed against the wall beside her head, straining white against the stone.

"That's not enough." It came out barely a whisper.

She leaned closer and he turned his face away. Her lips were near his ear. "I am safest with you."

She touched his face with the gentlest of touches, trying to silently tell him that it would be okay. That everything would be all right. And she wished so badly that it would be. But his jaw remained locked, his breathing rough and rasping from his throat as he looked down at her with deep anguish in his eyes.

His hands left the wall to frame her face. " _Dear heart_ …" His hands gripped the nape of her neck, and he moved his mouth to her ear. "Please… just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow."

He straightened his body then, as though he was containing something very intense deep down inside him, and unclipped his hands from her face to turn away from her and move off towards Solas' desk in the middle of the room.

Ember felt a hard pang of pain twisting in her ribs. There was a great yawning gap opening up between them, which had nothing to do with the length of the room.

Her teeth ground together before she snapped, "If you won't listen to me, then we'd better try again." Her voice was cold and biting. "Focus on the amulet. Tell me what you feel."

The tension loosened slightly from frame. "Warm, soft, blanket covering. B-But it… it catches… tears… I'm the wrong shape. There's a…  _something_." He turned slowly and lifted his hand with a black fingerless glove to point southwest. "There." His hand slowly fell. "That way."

"We'll find whatever is preventing the amulet from working. If this is what you want, I'll make it right." She folded her arms. "Get Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you're sensing something wrong."

"Will you… will you come with me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," she replied. "You'll be alright, Cole. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see."

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Run_  by Jasmine Thompson. Also, there is a scene in the very beginning of this chapter that was influenced by the Dragon Age 2 Destiny Trailer.


	26. You Killed Me

_The one who repents, who has faith_

_Unshaken by the darkness of the world_

_She shall know true peace_

_\- Transfigurations 10_

Two days later and Cole and Ember were approaching the town of Redcliffe in the Hinterlands, which was where Cole had determined was where he would find the thing that was interfering with the amulet.

"Yeah, this should get me through the month." A human man with a long brown mustache murmured to a Carta dwarf. The man noticed their approach and muttered to the dwarf, "Give me a moment." The man came towards them with a smile. "Greetings. Can I help you?"

Cole stopped dead beside her. Brows furrowed, Ember looked over at him and came to a halt, her insides turning to stone.

Over six feet of hard masculine aggression stood beside her. His face was white as a sheet, his hands opening and closing into tight fists at his sides. His shoulders were racked up, all of him shaking like a lean volcano about to erupt. The air around him had slowly blackened until it was now darker than a storm cloud. Sunlight didn't fall anywhere near him, as if the rays were forced to bend away from the force of his animosity.

" _You_." That one word scrapped like a demon's claws on slate, finishing with a distinctly chilly edge, his blue eyes spitting murder at the man.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the world fell away as Cole stared at the man he didn't think he'd ever see again, and it had the most unbelievable and horrifying effect on him.

Hate.

Hate, hate,  _hate_.

It was a poison - fierce and vengeful - turning his core rotten. The bottomless pit of his furious revulsion blazed within him on a rampage as he flew towards the man like a devastating force of nature, pulsing with murderous intent. Like a wraith from hell, he disappeared and reappeared right in front of the man with hate eating away at his heart.

The man's eyes widened with fear as Cole shoved him to his knees, his hand on the top of the man's head, his dagger unsheathed and raised, poised to strike. The man stared up at him, utterly horrified, able to feel his rage and bloodlust in the black aura that shimmered a haze of violence around him.

"You killed me." Cole didn't even recognize the sound of his own voice.

"W-What?" the man stammered, confused and frightened. "I d-don't even know y-you."

"You forgot." His voice was razor sharp, his face distorted with unbridled fury, his eyes flashing black and blue hatred. "You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire and you forgot and I died in the dark!"

The man's chin wobbled. "T-The Spire?"

Cole's fist slammed with destructive force into the man's cheek, his knuckles splitting the man's lip wide open, sending blood flying into the dirt. Cole looked at the vial man's retched skin and blood caught in his knuckles with a blood-thirsty delight shinning in his eyes.

"Cole!" It was Ember's voice, sounding raw with concern, and a moment later he could smell her – the color red laced with fear.

"He killed me." Cole bent over and dug his fingers into the man's collarbone. The man howled in pain as he shattered the bone in his hand. "He killed me, and that's why it didn't work."

"Stop!" Her cry hit his eardrums, grating along his nerve-ends.

Cole shot her a flaring glance of impatience before he yanked the man forward, bringing his face right in front of his, his eyes firing up with the most ungodly flame of vengeful rage. "He killed me and I have to kill him back!"

"Cole, this man could not have killed you," she insisted urgently. "If he had, you'd be dead."

Memories filled his head and Cole's face became ashen. He started to shake so badly he could barely stay upright. His heart was clawing at the walls of his chest as if it was trying to escape from what his memory was forcing him to relive.

"A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark, dank, a captured apostate." His eyes met hers - hard, glinting, and cold. So cold they burned like dry ice in his eye sockets. "They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. He reminded me so much of you. I came through, to help, like I came through for you when you were so small and needed me to hold your hand." Raw pain seared a burning path up his esophagus. "I came through to help, and… I… couldn't. I couldn't help him. So I became him.  _Cole_."

He saw her wince. "You're angry. I understand that. The death of the real Cole hurt you, deeply, when your efforts to help proved to be in vain. But to regain that part of yourself, you  _need_  to work through it and the emotions you are feeling," she told him anxiously.

"I don't want to work through it. I want to  _feed_  on it." His eyes returned to the ex-templar, burning with purgatory into the eyes of his tormentor. "I want to feed on his fear, his pain, his blood. Make him suffer for the hell he put me in."

"Only a demon feeds on such things, and you aren't a demon," she insisted, half-angry, half-pleading. "You altered the essence of what you are when you left the Fade. You made yourself a human. Humans change, they get hurt, and they heal. You need to work it out like a person." Her eyes were wide and beseeching. "You will never grow into a real person, Cole, until you come to terms with what happened."

"Let me kill him!" He barked at her, swinging a look of such unholy vehemence on her that she whimpered with a muffled choke and quickly stepped back from him. "I need to…" He summed up with a white-toothed razor slice, a demonic look lighting behind his eyes as his lips curled viciously. "I  _need_  to."

Ember stared at him in horror. "C-Cole… you're s-scaring me."

"Good." Cole bared his teeth, lips tightly drawn back from blood-less lips, the air around him crackling with brutal savagery. "Do not get in my way."

One of her hands made a fluttering movement out in front of her. "Please… don't do this," she begged achingly in wretched disbelief. "Don't lose yourself to revenge."

"Don't take this away from me!" Eyes like flashing devils cut into her, the atmosphere around him fizzing and popping with his barely contained violence. "I've given you everything!  _Everything_! Just give me this one thing!"

"Maker, Cole. Don't…" She took a half-step towards him with her hand outstretched in a kind of distressed plea. "You are not a murderer."

The look he flicked her could have seared off a layer of her skin. "Let me kill him."

"Oh Maker! I-I'm s-sorry. I'm s-so sorry," the man pleaded with a dry sob.

Cole's blue eyes fell to flash murderous flares into the man, a dark flush mounting his milky-white cheekbones. "Sorry isn't going to help you now." His voice was steel misted with frost, his expression like a shark circling its next meal.

"If blood is what you want, Cole, then stab him." Ember's words arrived hoarse and uneven, pulsing with a deeply felt emotion, but Cole could barely hear her over the roaring rush of blood-lust going on in his head.

"No! Please!" The man begged, tears running down his face.

"Put him down like a mad dog, Cole." Ember's harshly impatient voice raked across his nerve-ends that were so on edge they literally vibrated.

Shadows swirled around Cole, the eerie darkness shadowing his face, making his expression demonic as he placed the edge of his dagger against the man's neck. Cole's eyes were as large as saucers and shimmered with blood-lust and vengeance as he pressed the blade into his neck, drawing blood. Teeth searing together behind his tight lips, Cole dragged the blade half an inch across the man's neck, drawing more blood.

"You really are a monster."

Cole stopped dead, blanching at the fierce accusation in her voice. There was dead silence while he absorbed the full, brutal thrust of it - a long, taut, agonizing silence while her words pierced his heart.

He straightened up with a violent jerk, stumbling back from the man and the utter carnage he had just wreaked, the man's blood trickling from his blade and the knuckles of his still clenched fist. A wave of clarity and self-loathing erupted in a swirling spin of dizzying terror. He felt like the worst thing to have ever existed. He'd never felt so angry with himself— or so ashamed.

Ember tossed the man a health potion and told him to run as fast as he could. She turned to face him, the sharp movement sending the glorious weight of loose silky red spirals tumbling back from her face. Her lashes flickered upwards to let her eyes spear scorn into his.

He didn't speak— couldn't. His voice felt trapped in his own horror-stricken throat.

"Do you feel any better?" she finally demanded in tight, thick condemnation.

He eyes fell to stare down at the dagger in his hand that was coated with blood. His stomach revolted at what he'd almost done. His heart shriveled like a dried-up grape in his chest. "No."

"You can't make it all just go away," she retorted in a stark whisper. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it, but I had to get through to you somehow."

Smoke-blue eyes darkened with repentance. Then it really hit— self-revulsion surging up from nowhere to bring a sickness clawing at the walls of his stomach. "I… I need to follow him. I-I need to make him f-forget."

"No," Ember murmured. "He needs to remember. You too."

His mouth closed into a hard, tight line of self-contempt. His hand clenched into a fist that he pushed to his brow. And then he disappeared and made a dash for as far away as he could get.

After running for what felt like forever, he gave his legs permission to fold and he slid into a huddle on the grass beneath a tree. He pressed his face into his knees, covered his ears with his hands and waited in trembling agony for the emotions trampling through him to subside.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alone, Ember trekked the path back home to Skyhold. The land was lush and fertile with rolling hillsides covered by trees that were broken by thick clusters of woodland.

After a long day of travelling, the Inquisitor covered another hillside to find a spectacularly beautiful valley, with rolling pastures and meadows gently dipping down towards the river that meandered its way the length of the valley on its way to the sea. It was there that she decided to make camp for the night where the land was rich and vibrant, sporting lush flora, tall pines, and old willows.

She uses her bow to hunt for food in the area around her campsite. Several gravel pathways wound their lazy way through flowerbeds down towards a river she could see glinting a short distance away, beyond the assortment of fruit trees that dappled the paths with leafy shade from the heat of the sun.

With food in hand, she made a fire and ate dinner. The dappling light from the fading sun quivered amongst the heavily leafed branches of the tangled trees and vines above her, but otherwise the wilderness of the forest around her remained at peace. When it got dark, she sat alone on a log in front of the fire, the sounds of nature surrounding her and the smell of wood burning.

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice murmured softly.

Ember lifted her face to find Cole sitting across the fire from her, studying her somberly.

"I know," she murmured back.

He continued to stare at her, those piercing eyes inside her. Ember tore her gaze from his to silently watch the flames lick at the wood. They were silent for a long time, and every time she glanced up she found him still sitting there just watching her.

Unable to stop herself, her eyes flickered up to his once more. "You missed dinner-"

The luxuriant swoop of his long charcoal eyelashes shaded his eyes from her. "I'm not hungry."

"—so I ate it," she concluded.

That brought his eyes back up to her, and placed a crooked little smile on his lips. That awful anguished gaze drained away to reveal deep blue irises like velvet threaded with ivory that warmed her all the way through.

"What was it?" he questioned curiously.

"Rabbit stew."

"Eck," he grimaced.

"And cinnamon sweet buns I bought back in Redcliffe."

His disgusted expression fell away, his ears seeming to perk up with interest.

Her lips quirked into a knowing smile, "I saved you one."

A slow, appreciative smile spread across his face so devastating it rendered her speechless.

She reached into her pack and retrieved the last cinnamon sweet bun. She moved across the fire to sit beside him and held it out to him. Her smile grew when he took it into his hands. Long fingers plucked a piece of the treat and brought it to his lips. His mouth opened and closed around the delicious sweet bread, his lips puckering as he chewed slowly. She watched his eyelids flutter shut as he chewed and she found herself suddenly envious of a dessert.

Silence stretched between them again, the only sound being the popping of the log in the open fire. He sighed suddenly and her gaze shifted to him. She watched him close his eyes, his mouth clench, his chest move up and down on a fierce tug of air.

"There  _was_  a Cole," he whispered to her, keeping his eyes closed, soot-black eyelashes flickering against fiercely jutting cheekbones. "The templars forgot him in a cell in the dungeons of the White Spire. His hands were bruised from beating on the wall. It was dark like the cabinet where he had to escape his father. His belly hurt like knives, throat cracked dry. He was alone. I pushed through and held his hand. It was all I could do." Cole stopped, something like anguish raking across his face. "He said, 'Thank you'."

She watched as his eyelashes fluttered, the long dusky crescents rising upwards to reveal the depth of the ocean swirled by a hundred different emotions; that held her utterly transfixed.

"He thought if he didn't have magic… I'm what he wanted to be. Him, but normal. So no one would hurt him. I am exactly what he'd always wanted to be," Cole uttered, though his voice sounded deeply constricted, as though he'd only just got the syllables past his tensely locked throat. "But like… like the Elder One I only wear another man's life."

He was on his feet, turning his back to her and the fire, grabbing his nape with long angry fingers. "If a man can be dead and then not… could I have saved the real Cole?" His voice was thick— wretched and thick— roughened by a bone-melting remorse.

A weight pressing down on her heart kept her silent while she closed the gap between them, running her arms around his waist and pressing herself in close to his rigid back. She felt him immediately stiffen up like a slender column of concrete.

"You're talking about Corypheus at the Temple of Mythal and his using his connection to the Blight to make himself immortal. You couldn't do that." She walked around in front of him so she could wrap him in her arms. She lifted her head to stare bleakly at his grim, hard face. "You did everything you could to save the real Cole. He was lucky to have a friend like you."

"It still hurts." Those indecently long eyelashes lowered slightly. "When do I stop hurting?"

Her lips twisted wryly. "If you ever find the answer to that question, do let me know."

His chin lifted and those awful, tear-washed eyes looked right into hers. "Earlier… I wasn't thinking about helping." He was as white as a sheet, guilt-riddled and ashamed. "I wasn't thinking about taking his pain away. I  _wanted_  to kill him." His eyes were firing shame and fury that was aimed at himself.

She murmured gently, "You were thinking about Cole and what was done to him."

"I get heavy when I think of him," he replied, shifting his eyes just out of reach of hers. "It pushes me down, holds me here."

Her hand lifted to his face to gently return his gaze to hers. "You were hurt and angry. You could have chosen to be a spirit of compassion and simply forgiven. But you didn't. You chose to embrace what you felt, even though it hurt, and grow from it." Her fingers traced his cheekbone. "You chose to feel. You chose to grow. You chose to be human, and so you are." Her finger dragged beneath his chin as one corner of her mouth lifted. "Believe it to become it, right?"

"I did, didn't I?" he whispered in awed comprehension. "I can…  _choose_. It's… it's up to me to form my own shape.  _I'm_  the one who makes me…  _me_. The decision is mine."

A soft smile crossed her red lips as she looked him directly in the eyes. "It always has been."

All the tension seemed to bleed out of him. "This world taught me that changing means losing those most precious to you. But now I know that doesn't have to be true. I can change for the better. I can choose to be more. More than just compassion.  _Human_."

He moved and she heard the sound of leather sliding as he reached up and ghosted a finger against a stray red curl that hung over her eye, his finger lingering on the skin of her cheek.

"Demons are bound when you tell them what they are so loudly that it's all they can hear. They have to be what you want. But they can't make me what they want me to be because I know what I am." His eyes were fixed on her face, as if nothing could tear them away. "I am yours." It came out as a broken breath. "No one can tell me otherwise."

His eyes were so hot they glowed skin-piercingly covetous as they seared a burning path into her. It pricked at just about every nerve-end she possessed. The carnal pull was shattering; the emotional one threatening to strip her bare.

"Sleep." It was a soft command as those long, pale fingers tucked the curl behind her ear. "I will watch over you."

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _I Feel So_  by Box Car Racer.


	27. Down by the River

_The Light shall lead her safely_

_Through the paths of this world, and into the next_

_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water_

_As the moth sees light and goes toward flame_

_She should see fire and go towards Light_

_\- Transfigurations 10:1_

Though the click of rock against rock was a small noise in the night, Ember woke instantly when the tiny tick reached her ears. Like most sounds heard at night, she couldn't be sure of the direction from which it had come.

While she'd been sleeping in her bedroll beneath the stars, the moon had risen in the midnight sky. Only its luminance outlined against the Frostback Mountain was visible to her, and it made the darkness of her immediate surroundings seem even blacker.

 _Tadwinks must've been moving around_ , Ember mused as she spotted her snowy horse tethered to the oak a few feet away, an occasional soft muffled thunking of her hooves on the loose soil.

The Inquisitor strained to hear any further noise as she slowly turned her head from side to side to pierce the gloom with her eyes, or to hear any new noise that might reach her through the now-silent darkness.

After a while of hearing nothing but the sounds of nature at night, she sat up slowly in her bedroll instead of settling back down. She looked about, searching the darkness around the makeshift camp.

"Cole?" she asked in a hushed voice as she crawled out of her bedroll, fully clothed in her armor. She put on her boots before picking up her dagger that was lying beside her.

The Inquisitor knitted her brow as she searched her camp for him only to find it empty. Her mouth was dry and she found her canteen only to discover it was bone dry. With her canteen in hand, Ember headed out across the dark countryside towards the river not far away.

The clouds had all but cleared away now, leaving a bright full moon shining in the night sky above her. It was warm out, and humid, the weather a nice change from the cold of Skyhold. A mist hovered over the grass-covered ground she trekked. She sucked in a deep breath of clean air then let it out again slowly, simply absorbing the peace and tranquility of her surroundings.

A sharp bend in the river was marked by a thick clump of trees standing big and dark against a midnight sky. She skirted the wood until she found the dirt path that led down to the river itself.

Minutes later and she emerged from the forest to a small clearing among the trees, where the springy turf grew to the edge of the riverbank. The river was wide and ran dark and silent, the trees standing like sentinels, big and brooding. A low ground mist enveloped everything in a soft skirt of billowing white.

A full moon hung just above the tops of the trees, blanching the color out of everything, surrounding her in eerie tones of black and grey, except for the river, where it formed slinky silver patterns on the silent mass as it moved at a slow and lazy pace. It so still and silent she could even hear the water softly lapping the pebbly ground several yards away from her.

Ember came to a sudden stop.

There he was.

Cole's back was to her and he was waist-deep in the water. He stood absolutely still, only the tips of his long fingers trailing across the calm surface of the water, his skin so tantalizingly ethereal and startlingly white it didn't look real—but then it never had.

Remaining unseen in the tree line, her eyes greedily followed the long lines of his lanky form with the whipcord-lean frame of an assassin. His body was as smooth and sleek and dangerous as a blade. She watched the glistening beads of moisture dotting the rippling lean muscles along his pale back, and lower to the curving hipbones that rose above the water.

Maker's breath! Just a little lower and she would be able to see everything!

Ever so slowly he raised his face towards the moon. She could see the side of his face now as he drank in the sight of the moon that beamed down on him benignly with its silvery-white light as if to worship him. He was a shimmering vision of golden hair and pale, pearlescent skin with his face lifted up to the moon, droplets of water dripping from the ends of his shaggy hair to drip slowly down his muscled back.

" _One by one they follow me, laughing, drowning, into the sea_. The rest of the poem is sad," Cole murmured softly, keeping his back to her.

"But the start was so cheery," she replied sarcastically.

"It sounds different here," he murmured softly, still not turning to face her. "The water changes the song."

She had to swallow before she could speak, "What are you doing here, Cole?"

"I've never been swimming." She watched his throat muscles move with the words, his voice rasping like coarse sandpaper across her ragged senses.

Her eyes snapped up to his face when he turned to face her, his movements slow and painfully deliberate. The wayward strands of blonde hair leaked water down his sharply chiseled features and lay in wet strands across his forehead. Her breath caught on the lump in her throat when she was hit with eyes so blue they were crystal, shaded by eyelashes so long, and silky black.

Her gaze fell from his eyes and she sucked in a sharp breath and nearly groaned at the sight of him from the front. With no apologies for her stare, she drank in the sight of him: the tightly corded arms, the sleek abdomen, the leashed power, the stark, hard muscles slick with water and flexing under her gaze, as if she'd just dragged her fingers over them.

"Do you want to swim with me?" The rough rasp of his voice ignited a flame beneath her heart.

The moon slid behind a lonely cloud. Blackness engulfed her suddenly, and Ember's cheeks warmed to the bright red color of her hair as she silently removed her weapons and armor, letting them fall forgotten to the ground at her feet to join his. Satisfaction surged within her when his eyes widened and his breath quickened.

She moved on weak legs towards the edge of the bank. There were no words and there was no hesitation in her step as she crossed the grass to the water's edge.

Cole's smile flashed white in his shadowed face as his eyes locked with hers, watching her, intent on her, darkening to a look that was almost primitively possessive as he stalked toward her in the water with a ghostly kind of grace.

Cole didn't just move, he  _glided_ , silently through the water towards her. Even the moon revered him by coming out from behind its cloud, pooling him in stark silvery light as he continued his slow graceful journey.

There was none like him in this world, or the next.

And he was all hers.

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Cole's body moved unconsciously through the water, knowing where it needed to go, his eyes never leaving her face.

He watched her slowly work her way through the water toward him, her eyes moving over him like flickering torches of burning light.

She was all he needed to remain in this world. She was an everlasting torch of burning light, pushing back the shadows that always surrounded him, preventing him from being lost in them forever. Because of her he was more than just compassion. Because of her his purpose was greater than just helping. Because of her he existed, no longer an easily forgotten, unseen, unwanted being trapped somewhere between what was real and unreal.

Because of her he was alive.

Ember stopped directly in front of him, dark water a line across her stomach. Greenish-blue eyes sparkled with something warm up at him, burning out everything else but the power of her light - light so bright it blinded. Wherever she was, she stood in her own pool of light.

Moving on its own, his body pressed against hers, water rippling around him with the movement. It was strange how different they were—he was all hard and sharp, she all soft and curved. Dissimilar but fitting, like a leaf on a branch.

His hand rose out of the water to round her hip, curl around her waist, coming to rest against the small of her back. Her skin was slippery wet and incredibly hot beneath his palm. The thick, coiling mass of her hair unfurled over his fingers in a heavy fall of fire that rippled its way to the base of her spine.

On the air he tasted desire. One touch and she wanted him. He would never understand why. She was the only one. No one else liked what they saw when they looked at him, or liked when he touched them. But she did.

His other hand reached for her face—it was like trying to capture a dancing shard of sunlight. The cool tips of his fingers slid against skin like fine satin, the inner recesses of his mouth springing into life with a need to taste what he could feel.

_Say something._

_Say something good._

"I like swimming."

_Why?_

_Why did you say that?_

Instead of frowning and moving away like he thought she would, her apple red lips parted into his favorite smile and then he felt the warm press of her fingers on his skin as she reached up to stroke his face. It was a simple gesture of comfort, yet it almost brought him to his knees.

_Try again._

_The right words this time._

_Find them, put them together._

"Five years. Even then - back when - I knew but didn't see." Cole grimaced, struggling to find the words he wanted that hovered on the tip of his tongue like floating dandelion seeds.

Her fingertips trailed gently, gently down his cheek. "Knew what?" His eyes dropped to her lips, watching the end of the last word form.

"That I love you." His voice broke with all the unwavering certainty behind those words, and that one statement encased in a whisper seemed to bring their entire world to a halt. "I've felt it in others, but it's always tangled with something else. You can never tug it loose to stand on its own without tearing it."

He took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. Something burned behind his eyes, sharp like the sting of acid. "I look at you and I  _feel_  it—untwisted and unraveled. Inside of me the word stands on its own. It can never be broken or torn because it's not tangled with anything else." He was looking at her desperately through warm liquid that blurred his vision, wanting her to understand the depth of what he was feeling but always struggled to put into words.

He caught her eyes with his own and those soul-stripping gemstones of liquid aquamarine seemed to pour into him. He watched diamond dewdrops glisten behind her lashes as she stared up at him, tears beginning to shimmer in the shallows of her gaze.

"On its own, I love you too." It was the smallest whisper in the world, so quiet, so soft that the breeze in the trees completely covered it.

But he heard it, and  _those_  words uttered in  _that_  voice coiled around him, squeezing, until he felt so physically weak it was difficult to continue standing. The flesh of his chest seared. He could actually feel her words etch themselves onto his heart, deep and burning and permanent.

_She sees me._

_She remembers me._

_She protects me._

_She wants me._

_She needs me._

_She loves me._

_She. Loves. Me._

_No one else ever has._

_But she does._

His eyes fell and narrowed on her mouth. He wanted it on him, so much so that the inside of his mouth had moistened in anticipation, his lips filling with warm pulsing blood.

His wet palm slid slowly up her spine, over flesh streaked with scars, going under her unruly profusion of red curls, finding, caressing the back of her neck. He felt her shiver, just like she always did when his fingertips touched the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck by her parents.

His fingers tightened on the nape of her neck and then slowly pulled her toward him, his gaze never leaving hers as he drew her closer, eliminating the space between them. He heard her suck in a sharp ragged breath, taking his air into her lungs the second before his bottom lip brushed lightly against her top - her fire instantly melting his ice.

"Please love me forever." His voice was hoarse from the raw tightness in his throat. "As I will never stop loving you."

His hands trembled as they lifted to carefully cradle her face between them, his fingers splaying out over her cheeks as he softly caught her bottom lip between his lips. Soft, soft drops of summer rain on his lips. The taste of starlight on his tongue. Soft sighs he inhaled deeply, greedily. Gasping, shuddering, air seeking, and then lips again. Tongue in his mouth, behind his lips, dancing and twirling with his own - slick and warm - the lick of a flame against a log in a hearth.

He drank deeply from her mouth, her hands dragging up his wet chest, roaming over his shoulders, smoothing over his neck, her fingertips following the curve of his jaw. He leaned into her every touch, like the cats do when he pets them. Her hips pressed against his and his blood raged out of control, that part of his body throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

_Want her._

_Above me, under me, all around me._

_Need._

_So much._

_Like air._

His hands moved lower until he gripped the backs of her thighs, and lifted her out of the water. His mouth never left hers as he carried her a few feet and laid her gently down on her back on the grass beside the river.

The moon hung like a silver lantern in the dark sky, its silvery-white light etching out every soft curve of her, every dip that glistened with moisture. Her freckled cheeks were flushed. Her chest rose and fell unevenly with each inhale, each exhale, drawing in deep, tremulous breaths through lips so red and full and swollen. So much hair – a thick tumbling mass of tightly-wound corkscrews that flamed around her head like a halo of fire. Stars not as bright as the light shining out of eyes that were deep swirling blues and greens.

Lightly, Ember lifted her hand to cup his cheek and gave him a slow, heavy-lidded smile. "Breathe, Cole."

He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, and couldn't help but smile down at her. Gentle. She always saw and she always worried. It echoed when she breathed. He could feel it seep into him, break the skin, enter blood.

"You make it hard to breathe," he confessed in a roughened undertone. "You're shinier like this, but not where everyone can see. Only I can see. I like that. I like that this part of you is only for me."

"That's because you're mine." Her voice was a softly lilting lullaby.

He leaned over her, balanced on his elbow. His hand lifted to push her tumbling mane of fiery curls back from her brow before letting them - the very tips of his fingers - trail slowly, oh so slowly, over every inch of her face, wanting to feel every feature beneath the pads of his fingers.

Her eyelids fluttered shut when the tips of his fingers grazed up the line of her jaw to her ear before cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb lightly stroked the arch of her eyelashes where they lay flickering against her cheek. With a sigh she turned her face into his palm and he bent his head to let the tip of his nose nuzzle her other cheek.

"Everything I am needs everything you are,  _dear heart_ ," he breathed against the heated smoothness of her cheek.

His lips brushed feather-light across her cheek as he pressed his palm against her flat stomach, feeling the muscles quiver. His hand slid down the taut wall of her stomach, along her inner thigh, until his fingers smoothed over soft sweet flesh with just the lightest brush of his fingers.

She gasped then trembled and it was because of  _him_ , a delicate little ripple of response that was nearly his undoing. Silk was not as soft as her skin and he felt it came alive beneath his fingertips, soft sighs passing between her lips as he touched the very heart of her.

Her body began moving restlessly beneath him, scoring his back and arms with her fingernails, moving her legs in quick, anxious movements. "Please, Cole…" she pleaded huskily, begged, dreadfully needy, fingers tugging at his hair to lift his face so she could feverishly kiss his mouth, his jaw, his neck. "I've missed this so much…  _please_ …"

Cole pushed off his elbow and slid on top of her, feeling every tremble and quake, until his face was close to hers. The muscles in his arms braced either side of her as he lowered himself between her thighs that opened for him, like he belonged there. Never having belonged anywhere, that simple action made him want to crawl right inside her skin, possessively claim total occupancy.

He bent his head and kissed her. And slowly entered her body with his.

A raw sound scraped the very walls of his chest as a frisson streaked through him. Everything around him seemed to fall away, narrowing his world to nothing but the indescribable sensation of his body entering into hers—  _becoming her_ — fitting inside her like the missing piece of himself.

She instantly arched, the vibrations from her moan leaving her mouth to flow straight into his, her hips surging up to meet him as he sank into her— slowly, gradually, deeper and deeper until there was no more of him to offer.

Her lips broke from his on a silent cry, her head falling back, her eyes falling shut. He went utterly motionless— took an actual pause in life itself as he watched a single tear slip from the corner of her eye to roll gingerly down her temple before disappearing into fiery red curls.

Knowing she was feeling what he was feeling was almost enough to end him completely.

He curled his arms around her shivering body, pressing tight to her, wanting to pull her clear through the wall of flesh preventing them from being one.

_Hot. Slick. Tight._

_I want to live here._

_Right here._

_With a part of me inside her._

_Always._

Cole felt the deep rise and then fall of her chest as he buried his face in her warm throat. His limbs shaking and trembling like the leaves did when the wind blew through them, holding onto her like an anchor in deep water.

Deep breath in.

_She smells so good._

Slow exhale against the skin of her throat.

_Like the color red._

Violent tremors ran through him like waves through water as he drew his hips back and pushed into her again. A quick, quiet gasp escaped her as she writhed and quivered, shattering just that little bit more for him.

 _Don't hurt her_.

He made a smaller, gentler move with his hips.

 _Don't hurt her_.

He barely moved at all.

 _Don't hurt her_.

He stilled completely, chaotic forces of sudden panic and dread running rampant inside him. He couldn't think beyond the fear that he was causing her pain—again.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

_Wringing me out._

_Wrought right and rigid._

_Can't relax…_

He drew in a shaky breath and held on to it, severe tension scoring his face, his thoughts a million buzzing bees inside his head – stinging and blinding. The world seemed to be closing in on him. So overcome. So undone. Suffocating—he felt as if he was suffocating. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't—

"Cole."

He pulled back to brace himself on his forearms on either side of her and looked down into her eyes—breathless and fearful.

"You're not hurting me," she murmured reassuringly between gasps. "So relax and stop worrying."

_How does she know the buzzing thoughts in my head?_

He nodded, trying to relax some of the screaming worry and tension from his body. But it didn't happen. Too many muscles had locked and knotted with fear and apprehension.

"I… I  _can't_." His voice was tortured.

Ember was breathing so heavily, she had to catch her breath before she responded. "Focus on me. Nothing but me." Her fingers tangled lovingly into his hair, calm and soothing.

He clenched his eyes shut, and gritted out, "But… I  _can't_. It's all crowded in my head. Knots on top of tangles on-"

"Look at me," Ember instructed gently, her fingers running down to stroke at his taut cheeks. He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on hers. "Yes, just like that. Good. Now, deep breathe. Come on. Good, nice and deep. Now release it slowly. That's right. Feel the breath in your lungs, my skin against yours."

Her fingers danced up his arms, across his taut shoulders and into his hair again, drawing him down to press his ear to her chest where he could feel the persistent throb of her beating heart.

"Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating. Focus on it. Hear nothing else." The tone comforted him and caressed the ragged edges of his panic.

He heard it, the unsteady beat of her heart, and suddenly it was the only thing he could hear. He could feel the vibrations of the strings of her heart being plucked and strummed through the cage encasing the precious organ. The tension contracting the muscles of his body began to ease as the melody of her heart played against his ear, soaked into each bone of his body, a tune melodiously soaring through his blood.

Her breath broke on a whimper and only then did he realize his body was unconsciously moving in and out of hers in tandem with the beat of her heart thundering beneath his ear. He let the sound guide him, his hips surging forward again and again, thrusting him deep to the rhythm.

She moaned his name so  _perfectly_ , as if she was meant to say it, and he lifted his head from her chest and captured her parted lips, widened them, and plunged deeply in. One of her hands clasped around his nape while the other ran in a feverish sweep down the full length of his back. Her legs hitched, curled higher, and drew him in deeper, her ankles locked together behind his back. There was a groan — a raw, agonized groan — as her fingernails clawed death grips into the muscles of his back, as if she feared he would leave her like before.

She was panting for breath by the time he drew his mouth away, giving only enough space between their lips so he could look down into her face. Skin slid wetly against skin, the air between them hot and stifling and filled with the sound of their labored breathing. Anchored in the ever-changing blues and greens of her eyes, his movements grew stronger, deeper, fiercer.

 _What is that sound?_  Cole's eyes rolled back into his head.  _Such beautiful singing._

He could hear the most spellbinding music rising on the gentle currents of the air. It summoned an ache he didn't even know he had. Lovely, lovely singing. The sweetest of tunes. It sounded like lyrium, but… but it was sweeter, softer, stronger… notes that were a lighter shade of white twisted with threads of red and tied to strands of green.

_And it's coming from us._

She was a bard and he was her melody - their notes dripping in the air, dancing along the surface of the water. The dulcet tones shining, shimmering, sharp. The most beautiful melody he'd ever heard - a song that was  _theirs_.

Suddenly, something dangerous was also dancing in the air, spinning silver spider webs of magic into the moonlight. He drew in a deep breath, the air redolent of electricity, dreams, and inexplicable mystery that was all too familiar.

_We are being watched._

He was sure of it.

Cole looked down and studied Ember's face, trying to determine if she could see them too.

But she didn't see them. She didn't sense them. They were too far away.

But he could.

Across the Veil, spirits and demons alike were not watching them as he'd initially thought, but listening. Silent as death, they listened to the song that they were singing. They were drawn to the melody just as they were drawn to the sound of lyrium.

_Coveting her and me._

Her lips feathered over his, across his cheekbones, his eyes, his temples, leaving fire leaping just under his skin wherever they moved.

"C-Co… le…" she sobbed as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her warm face into his throat.

Her fingers splayed on his back as his body rolled in slow, rolling waves against her damp skin. Hot inside skin that suddenly felt tight over his bones, he slid into her tortuously slow but jarringly deep. He was breathing in a hard, raw rhythm, veins a river of fire that fevered his skin to the point of boiling. Beads of sweat rolling languidly down the muscles of his back as he filled every part of her—a slow, slow merging of souls.

Her name laced with the color red was in every inch of him now, like a sticky sweet nectar that filled every fiber of his being. He belonged to her. She owned him. There was no fear of his possessing her because it was  _she_  who possessed him. If she said,  _Die for me, Cole_ , he would gladly bleed himself dry.

"You are all the world to me." He was hardly aware that the strained words had left his constricted throat, so consumed was he by the look, smell, and feel of her. "Breath to my life."

His hand ran possessively down her side, over the curve of her hip, to squeeze her thigh. His fingers hooked behind her knee and in one deft motion, he lifted her knee up to his hip. He pushed into her, hard, and she cried out his name as her body snapped taut beneath him, clamping onto him so tight.

Breath, stuttered and broken, hissed between his clenched teeth as her muscles stretched then tightened in a ripple along him. He could  _feel_  her— actually feel her beating all around him, like waves crashing against the shore.

A stinging whip of sensation shot through his body with a crack of thunder that shook his bones and caused his body to shake— shake violently, blood screaming, a skittering crackle of electric energy across his skin. There was a sudden coiling deep within him that tightened briefly before spiraling out of control.

His head snapped back, arching his spine and clenching his muscles, the cords in his neck straining, breath exploding from his mouth as pure sensation split through him like forked lightning in a series of violent, electric shocks.

Nothing after that moment made a single ounce of sense to him as everything inside exploded with light in its purest form and the sweetest music so powerful it momentarily shattered his shape, his existence. If it weren't for his own skin containing him, he would have been scattered everywhere and nowhere at once. Then, each shattered piece of himself poured into her with violent shudders. And she took all of him, his very essence. Every inch and part of himself was consumed by her until there was nothing left.

For a moment, Cole thought he'd died. Something deep inside him had been lost forever. He didn't know how it happened, it just happened. But as he lay there, heavy on her, his body still attacked by the pulsing aftershocks, he knew that something vital had gone from him— irrevocably changing him.

Cole's eyelids slowly fluttered open to the sight of flame-bright hair spun in fiery tendrils around a heartbreakingly blissful, smiling face with tears in half-mast eyes of twilight. The body cradling his glowing with a white-green light, as if the stars themselves had leaned down to embrace her.

He let his arms wrap around her. Her body was soft and pliant as she curled into him. They stayed like that, still intimately connected, a completed puzzle, with his face buried in the crook of her neck as her fingers played with the ends of his hair. He drew in deep, contented breaths as he listened to her breathing slow, feeling her shuddering body calm.

He felt like quiet.

Rare, peaceful, perfect quiet.

Only with her did he ever feel like this— no whispers in his head, no thoughts of pain or hurt, just sweet blissful silence.

After a while, Ember made them return to camp where she adjusted them on her bedroll so he was lying on his back, holding her in his arms.

"You sleep right here with me," she stated firmly, taking no for an answer as she draped her bare leg over both of his, her slender arm thrown across his chest. "And no disappearing acts. I want to feel you and see you the moment I wake up."

Cole ran a forefinger across the back of her hand lying on top of his chest. "I won't leave. Right here, no disappearing, no moving unless you want me to."

She nestled in closer to him. "Promise you'll lay with me, just like this," she murmured, hugging him so tight, he didn't know where he began or she ended. "For all the nights of my life."

He rubbed the tip of his nose and then his cheek against the top of her red curls that spilled across his chest and throat. "And every night after."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two days later and snow was crunching beneath their feet as they trekked the last remaining distance to Skyhold.

A sliver of moonlight broke through the dense clouds, its light falling upon the Inquisitor who wore her superior hunter armor and forest green cloak pulled tight around her head, shielding her face from the bitter cold whipping around her.

Beside her, the Ghost of the Spire wore ebony leather armor and duel daggers strapped to his back. The moonlight turned his flaxen hair to a white-silver and dimly illuminated his sharply defined features.

Ember's greenish-blue eyes shifted to the side to watch him chew on his bottom lip. Earlier that day they'd received a raven from Leliana saying Rhys and Evangeline had arrived at Skyhold. He hadn't said much since then. He didn't say it, but she could tell he was nervous about meeting his old friends, afraid they wouldn't want to see him.

Moments later, and they reached the top of the mountain to see Skyhold in the distance.

Ember smiled, "The moment we get home I'm going to draw us a hot bath and then-"

The Inquisitor stumbled in the snow, nearly falling to her knees as the mark on her hand began to crackle with green glowing energy, sparks flying off of it, as if it were searching for a nearby Rift.

The snow-covered ground shook beneath her feet and the clouds above the Valley of Sacred Ashes began to gather and swirl, rapidly rotating in a spiral arrangement, like a hurricane. At the center formed a funnel-shaped cloud, twisting downwards faster and faster, until the funnel reached the ground, like a tornado. Then, the tornado exploded in a burst of green light, tearing the Veil.

Panic and apprehension poured through the Inquisitor's bloodstream, the power of it grinding her heart against her ribs.

"Corypheus," Ember gasped as she watched a breach into the Fade form in the sky in the Valley of Sacred Ashes.

 _Either I close the Breach again, or it swallows the world!_ Ember thought frantically.

In the distance she could see her advisors and companions running out of Skyhold, staring up at the Breach. She knew her advisors. They would be sending her companions out to the Breach to investigate.

"We must go,  _now_ , before it's too late," she whispered, looking down, only then realizing that she was gripping Cole's hand with hers. Her face was pale, her eyes stricken with terrible distress and foreboding that was tearing her apart inside as she lifted her face to his.

"Are you afraid of being bound?" she asked, seeing the fear in his eyes.

"No," he murmured softly. "I am already bound to you."

"What is it you fear?" she asked gently.

"Losing you," he answered, his voice rusty and low.

Her free hand lifted between them to cup his soft, velvety white cheek. "You aren't going to lose me," she murmured soothingly. "Together we will face that monster sent from the bowels of hell, and nothing will stop us from sending him back there."

Cole nodded, but he wasn't assured.

He was  _terrified_.

He couldn't stopping remembering what the old woman had said – that soon death would be coming for her.

His fingers tightened around hers.

He wouldn't let that happen.

**Author's Note** : This chapter has two soundtracks. From Ember's perspective:  _Near You Always_  by Jewel. From Cole's perspective:  _Chasing Cars_  by Snow Patrol.


	28. Rhys and Evangeline

_Those who had sought to claim_

_Heaven by violence destroyed it_

_What was Golden and pure turned black_

_Those who had once been mage-lords_

_The brightest of their age_

_Were no longer men, but monsters_

_\- Threnodies 12:1_

The battle was over.

They'd won.

They'd defeated the Elder One.

And they'd all survived!

The Inquisitor had conquered her enemy with her companions beside her and together they'd saved the world. The battle had started just after midnight. Ember had no idea what time it was over, but it was still dark outside. It had seemed like an eternity, but now it was over.

After such intense fighting it was very strange how suddenly the battle ended, how quiet everything had become. The Inquisitor had a feeling of disbelief that it was over, but at the same time it seemed like it was just beginning.

The gates of Skyhold parted to welcome home the Inquisitor and all of her companions, except for Solas who had disappeared right after the battle without an explanation. They rushed into the crowded throne room like a flood, their bodies battered, their armor stained, but their bloody faces wreathed in smiles.

The smoke-filled great hall was heavy with the smell of battle-weary men caked in sweat, blood and filth. Torches burned, a great fire roared in the hearth and men and women sat lined on benches at the long tables. Mabari hounds slunk between the rows of tables scavenging for dropped food. The chaos and roar of the throne room rivaled its smell as huge haunches of venison, baked bread, and cheese were paraded by serving girls. Mead and ale flowed and bone-tired warriors drank their fill.

All around Ember, people laughed and cheered and sang and drank. The people of Skyhold gave her companions congratulatory slaps on the back. The scullery maids fluttered their eyes at Commander Cullen. A small crowd of mages and Inquisition soldiers listened eagerly to Varric's accounts of the battle. At Josephine's direction, servants passed out cheese and ale and sewed up her companions' wounds.

Blackwall, battered almost beyond recognition, nonetheless managed a reassuring grin as he spoke with wide-eyed Grey Wardens. Leliana weaved her way through the crowd, making certain everyone was content, while Cassandra sat with Vivienne, letting the sorceress treat her injuries.

Bull was leading the raucous celebration, tossing back alcohol as if it was water while laughing and pounding the table with his Chargers. The hall erupted in singing, yelling and banging while Dorian and Sera sang and danced on top of the tables with mugs of ale in their hands.

But despite the merriment around her, despite the dearth of fatalities for the Inquisition, despite the fact that they had successfully destroyed Corypheus, Ember was too exhausted to celebrate.

Beside the Inquisition Throne, the Inquisitor stood alone and apart with her shock of hip-length red curls and freckles. Her greenish-blue eyes were soft on three figures huddled close together in a quiet corner of the hall.

Cole was sitting cross-legged on top of a table, his golden hair disheveled as it fell across his forehead beneath the wide brim of his hat. He was smiling – a bright, warm smile – looking so handsome with those finely carved features, high cheekbones, and sweeping long black lashes over crystal clear blue eyes.

In front of Cole stood Rhys, a forty-year-old human mage wearing scarlet robes. He was handsome, Ember mused, with a warm smile, short brown hair, and grey in his beard. Beside Rhys stood his wife Evangeline wearing her templar armor and a fine red tunic with the Chantry starburst sewn in gold thread. She was a beautiful woman with her long black hair pulled up into the sort of elegant braid used by the ladies of the court.

Ember smiled as she heard Cole utter proudly to Rhys, his knees bouncing with excitement, "The Elder One tried to bind me, but it failed. Did you see it? Did you see me? I am unbound!"

In that moment, she was glad she'd had Rhys and Evangeline brought to Skyhold. It gave Cole a chance to reconcile with his long lost friends.

Another wave of fatigue hit her and Ember had to raise her hands to rub at her throbbing temples. She was dangerously exhausted. She no longer felt numb from the adrenaline. She studied her own dried blood on her armor. It felt like she was always bleeding. Violence had always been apart of her life - the life of an apostate. But right now she'd never felt so tired of it. She was so weary of bleeding, and of killing. She could only hope that now things would be different.

Her body deflated, her weariness reaching unimaginable levels. Not wanting to ruin the party, Ember mechanically moved to her quarters, paying no attention to her surroundings as her mind battled fatigue.

As she walked up the stairs to her room, she peeled off her soiled armor that was coated in her own dried blood, sweat, and dirt. Her thick, unruly red curls tumbled down her back against her black tunic she wore beneath her armor, the ends swaying across the small of her back as she took the last step and stood in her room.

She began to move toward her bed, prepared to simply fall into it and sleep for at least two days, but stopped in her tracks. Her eyes searched the darkness of her room, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling.

Something just wasn't right. She could feel it in her gut.

She sensed someone in her room, someone who was not supposed to be there. She could hear them breathing, taking away her air. She turned her head to the source of the sound, feeling a presence standing beside her bed.

Her eyes squinted to see into the darkness, but then she froze. Her mouth ran dry. Her eyes widened as the cold sweat of fear broke out on her skin.

Ember prayed the dark silhouette looming over her bed was an illusion, but it wasn't. Her gut twisted into barbed-wire knots. As she stared, trying to pierce the blackness, a match was struck and the candle on her bedside was lit, bringing light into the darkness of her room.

Time stretched as thin as her nerves. Excruciatingly quiet, utterly terrified, her apparent fear made Samson chuckle – a deep, dark, and very satisfied sound that caused fright and panic to rip through her.

"I can smell your fear. That's very smart of you. Be afraid." His eyes were like his voice. Cold.

Ice traveled along her spine at his gruff words. Though she wanted to, she was too paralyzed to speak.

"Do you know what my sister feared most?"

She did, but she couldn't get her lips to move.

"Loss." The one word hissed from his taut mouth. "She feared losing those she loved most. And that's what you gave her: Loss." The menace in Samson's voice wasn't very well concealed. "In one night she lost her husband, her brother, her so-called friend, her freedom, and then her life - all because of you."

She physically flinched at his harsh and damning words, her body jerking back. "I didn't mean to lead the Templars to her."

"But you did!" He bellowed, his face creased up with disgust. "You did and now she's dead! Killed herself in the cell Knight Commander Meredith threw her in!"

Ember's knees felt weak, her eyes wide and beseeching. "I was a teenage apostate sneaking love letters to a circle Mage in Kirkwall!" she cried, looking imploringly into Samson's cold eyes. "I was frightened! I didn't mean for any of that to happen! I was just trying to find Sister Nightingale!"

"And you did. You abandoned my sister to her fate and now here you are - leader of the new Inquisition," he spat, his eyes looking around her quarters with evident contempt.

Her eyes narrowed on this man who'd once been her friend. "Yes, but after you betrayed me by ratting me out to the templars in Kirkwall."

He raised a black eyebrow at her and her eyes flashed blue-green flames. "Oh, you didn't think I knew that it was you who turned me in to the templars? That it was because of you that I was hunted down, captured, beaten, starved and then tossed into the dungeons of the White Spire?"

"You deserved to rot in that black pit," he hissed, his words venomous and cruel. "Just as you deserve what I'm going to do to you now."

The Inquisitor shuddered, as if something unholy had just reached out to brush its icy fingertips along her body. Her heart lodged like a throbbing lump of fear in her throat. Real skin-crawling panic had to erupt some time because Ember had been struggling for so long to keep it in.

Before she could scream for help, over a dozen red templars were swarming over her balcony like mail-clad locusts, a black plague leaving only the promise of death in its wake.

A red templar rushed toward her with daggers. The heel of Ember's hand slammed into his nose followed by a quick snap of his neck.

One lunged at her with his sword and she spun around and grabbed his outstretched hand and twisted. The man squawked, dropped to his sword under the crushing grip, the sword in his hand clattering to the ground as the bones of his hand grinded together. Ember's other hand came forward, her fist connecting with his jaw. There was a sickening crunch by the powerful blow that twisted the red templar backward onto the ground, unconscious.

A blade came whizzing by her head and Ember spun to her right, barely missing the sharp edge, the red templar's sword slicing into nothing but air. With nimble fingers, she lifted the dagger easily from the red templar's belt and quickly brought it up, swiping a descending sword out of harm's way.

A thrust to her exposed side and Ember parried before the blade could hit her flesh, almost losing her footing. An axe swiped at her, but she ducked under the steel, and spun and thrust, cutting off the limb holding it.

She jabbed her dagger at another enemy, ducked right, and brought her dagger up, stabbing a red templar in the side. She felt the dagger go through flesh and hit bone before spinning left, her dagger cutting through tendons of one throat before lodging into the gut of another. She spun back to check one sword with her dagger before whirling away from a second, the tip of her dagger slicing across an exposed neck before becoming embedded in another's ribcage.

With lightning speed, Samson charged at her. Ember jumped to the side, just barely dodging his sweeping sword. Ember swung her dagger low, the point of her dagger slashing across his calf, warm blood trailing down his leg inside of his armor. Samson spun, his sword swiping away her dagger before his fist came forward, crashing into her soft cheek. The Inquisitor's head snapped to the side as she stumbled back, blood trickling from her nose down into her mouth.

Before Ember could collect herself, Samson punched her in the stomach, causing her to double over. She fought against the hard hands that suddenly grabbed at her, fought and kicked until Samson got in front of her again and lifted her face, drawing back his fist and popped her two right in the cheek. A burst of pain exploded in her left eye, and she let loose a Mind Blast that forced Samson and the templars holding her to fly backwards.

Ember quickly summoned a barrier to protect herself and unleashed a torrent of magic. Chain lightning jumped between ten red templars and their bodies instantly fell to the floor, seizuring and spasming, as jolts of electricity shot through them.

Ember began summoning a spell in her hand when her protective barrier fell away due to her exhaustion from fighting the Elder One. Before she could release the spell, Samson channeled red lyrium and released a Holy Smite, striking out with righteous fire and causing her to stumble. Before she could recover, he followed up with a Silence, instantly surrounding her in negative energy. To her horror, the spell in her hand sputtered out and died.

She lifted her hands, summoning the focus to form her own rift, but it was too late. Samson's blade came down in one vicious stroke across her body. Ember stumbled back, a shrill scream tearing from her brittle throat, a tidal wave of agonizing pain rolling over her.

She didn't hear the threat, wasn't even aware of it until a hard hand grabbed the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her necklace, and flung her into the opposite wall by the fireplace. Ember's body slammed into it, sending bits of mortar and old brick flying.

Ember quickly struggled to her feet, her brain sloshing in her skull. Blood filled her mouth, tasting of dirty copper. On her feet, the ground seemed to shake as though the very earth were breaking up beneath her. The world around her blurred, a shadowed figure looming close and cruel masculine laughter echoing in the dark.

It happened so fast, and yet each second ticked by in haunting precision. Out of the corner of her eye, Ember saw a flash of silver and heard the sound of a blade pulled free from a scabbard. She swung around only to find a dagger level with her stomach.

She blinked and the steel suddenly sank hilt-deep into her flesh.

The Inquisitor's expression went from stunned to horror to pain, where it stayed for what seemed an agonizing length of time as she stared dumbly down at the red liquid pouring out of her body. It flowed over the dagger sticking out of her stomach and down her black tunic and seeped into her black tights.

In one swift motion, the blade was withdrawn and she let out a cry of pain that sounded more like a gurgle from the blood in her throat. She fell to her knees, sputtering, blood flying from her lips onto the floor.

Ember swayed on her knees for second, scarlet curls sweaty and limp around her black and blue face, warm blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. She swallowed and the taste of copper rolled down the back of her throat. In a daze, she looked down and lifted her hands to touch the gaping hole in her gut. Warm blood ran over her hands and seeped threw her fingers as she applied pressure.

The world around her began to spin and tilt on its axis. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, she felt herself slide to the ground in a pool of her own blood.

 _I don't want to die._ The words blew through her mind like smoke from a blown out candle.

A pair of black muddy boots entered her vision. Her pain-filled gaze shifted to the corner of her eye to see Samson standing over her, smiling with triumph down at her broken and bleeding body, the dagger in his hand coated with her blood.

 _So, he did get his revenge after all,_  she thought bitterly, gritting her teeth, every muscle in her body knotted in paralyzing pain.

Samson suddenly looked away from her and began yelling something, but it was only white noise in her ears, which felt as if they were filled with cotton. She saw the red templars react to whatever he'd said and began dragging their fallen brethren out of the room and over the balcony.

Samson then knelt down in front of her, black strands falling across his forehead, covering his eyes. She lifted a heavy hand to punch him in his face, but ended up merely swatting feebly at him with her fingers, leaving a trail of blood across his stone-cold features.

Samson's chin lifted sharply to stare down at her with those chilling eyes, and she couldn't help but glare hatefully up at him. His lips were moving, but she couldn't hear what he was saying, and then he was smiling – a cruel smile that terrified her. She shuddered, feeling sick, compelled to look at him and that evil smile simply because she'd rather look the devil in the eye while he tried to steal her soul.

Ember cursed him, though she couldn't hear her own voice, her spit hitting his face and Samson's expression became hard and hateful again.

Her eyes suddenly felt heavy, her mind foggy, so tired. Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt hands on her body. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she felt herself being roughly dragged from the haze of pain in which she lingered, being taken, taken away from her home by cruel unknown hands. She shuddered in dread, not sure where they were taking her or what torture they had planned for her.

With tears inching a slow stinging trail down her cheeks, Ember lifted her tear-filled eyes to the stars painted on her ceiling.

"Cole… I'm s-sorry…" Her voice faded; blackness rimming her vision, her eyes beginning to close.

The last thing she saw before the blackness took her was Cole's face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Spy Master!"

In the smoke-filled great hall with the celebration beginning to die around her, Leliana turned her head to find one of her agents running toward her, stark fear and anxiety written all over the young man's face.

"Yes?" Leliana asked, her apprehension growing at the look on the young man's face.

"Come with me, right away!" And with that he was guiding her towards the Inquisitor's quarters along with Josephine and Cullen.

The Inquisitor's advisors took the last step into the Inquisitor's room and came to a dead stop.

"Oh, my Maker," Josephine breathed, horror-struck as she took in the scene before her.

The Inquisitor's desk was broken, papers scattered around the room. Her couch was turned over, curtains strewn about with broken collectables and mugs and a shattered window by the stairs.

But the sight that caused their hearts to stop beating and brought tears to their eyes was the large pool of blood on the floor in front of the fireplace and the pair of small red handprints beside it that were streaked at the bottom, as if someone hand grabbed her and dragged her to the balcony, her hands clawing at the ground to stop them.

"Someone took her," Leliana whispered in a dead voice, still too shaken up, too sick and dizzy with horror and shock to say anything else.

A fierce scowl escaped Cullen. "Who… who would do this?" he muttered darkly through clenched teeth.

Blood streaked the floor and so did some kind of red substance. As Leliana bent down to look at the red smears, Varric appeared beside her, and uttered sharply, "Don't get near that stuff. It's red lyrium."

" _Samson_ … he did this," Cassandra growled low in her throat, irate, appearing at the top of the stairs beside Bull, Vivienne, Dorian, and Sera; Blackwall quickly moving to Josephine's side to comfort her.

"That's what Scout Harding thought," the scout spoke up as the Inquisitor's companions moved into her room to investigate. "Scout Harding discovered the scene fifteen minutes ago. She immediately gathered the other agents and raced after them, tracking them out of the gates of Skyhold. Other Inquisition solders have run into a few pockets of red templars left behind to prevent any form of rescue."

"What rescue?"

They all turned to find Cole, Rhys, and Evangeline suddenly standing at the top of the stairs in the Inquisitor's quarters.

Wild, incomparable fear bit into Cole and hauled him up short. His face was utterly stricken, all the color run out of his skin. Horror flooded into his face, tightening his mouth, widening his eyes. But as those wide blue orbs scanned the carnage of her room, his jaw slowly clenched with seething fury, his mouth flattening into a single white-ringed line.

"What happened here?" Rhys gasped.

"The Inquisitor… she fought them, but she was already drained from the fight with the Elder One and there were too many of them based on these footprints. We think she's been taken," Leliana answered somberly while Sera in the background was crying and talking wildly in a choked, shocked, shaking voice.

A force of black energy came out of Cole, hitting them all square in the face like a fiery blast, nearly knocking them off their feet from the power of it. " _What did you say?_ "

Leliana frowned at Cole's ferocity and the dark look clouding his expression. "We think the red templars took Ember. We think they took her alive, based on this pattern of blood to the balcony. But we don't know why they took her or why they didn't just launch a full out attack on— Cole? Are you alright?"

A dangerous, foreboding, deathlike haze had slowly begun to fill the room— seeping out of Cole like a cracked well. The space around him was black as hell, as if darkness itself was spilling out from inside him. He was as cold and threatening as death, his lean frame tense and vibrating, his expression slowly darkening, turning instantly deadly.

Just like that, Cole was gone.

No one but Varric understood Cole's intense reaction, and the group began urgently discussing what to do next when one of Leliana's agents came running into the Inquisitor's quarters.

"Spy Master," the agent mustered, out of breath. "The red templars that were left behind started attacking. The rebel mages, wardens, and Inquisition soldiers fought back. The remaining red templars have been destroyed with only a few casualties."

" _What?!_ " Leliana shrieked, outraged. "You didn't take at least one red templar captive for interrogation?"

The agent's eyes grew wide and he began to stammer, "I-I… we were unaware that we were supposed to… to…"

Suddenly, from the Herald's Rest, they heard the unmistakable noise of glass smashing and splintering. Together they ran out of the main keep toward the tavern.

Just as they stepped onto the grass in front of the Herald's Rest, glass shattered with a crash and a body was thrown out of the Herald's Rest. Right through a window.

As the body hit the ground hard and skidded to a stop a few feet away, Cole jumped through the shattered window, face contorted with savage violence, all flame and ferocity, a terrifying sort of menace lurking in his eyes.

As silent flurries of snowflakes swirled in the air around him, Cole disappeared and reappeared on top of the red templar, catching the man by the throat and lifting his body off the ground.

"Where is she?" Cole's lips curled up into a snarl, body pulsing with aggression.

When the red templar didn't answer, Cole drove the point of his dagger into the red templar's shoulder, right through the armor. The red templar howled in pain.

" _Where is she?_ " his tone cracked like a whip, his eyes glassed over like blue ice, glinting with a danger you could actually taste.

The Inquisitor's advisors and companions all came rushing toward him, shocked by the sudden eruption of violence in the compassionate spirit.

Leliana shouted, "Cole! Stop! We need him alive! He's the last one! He may know where they took the Inquisitor!"

Beneath the wide brim of his hat, those unnatural blue eyes flickered to the left and narrowed on the Spy Master, dilated until there was nothing but two black voids, his face changed out of all recognition.

"The new world! The new leader! The red storm will rise!" the red templar uttered before ripping Cole's dagger out of his shoulder and shoving the point of the dagger against the base of his throat and pushing, pressing his weight against it.

A shaft of alarm went streaking down Cole's backbone and massed deep in his abdomen when the blade plunged deep. The red templar grunted, a rush of blood spurting from his mouth. The alarm leapt up to attack Cole's heartbeat when the red templar collapsed forward into his arms and the knife was pulled free, releasing a flow of blood. Cole crouched down to lower the red templar to the ground.

The only sound after that was the heavy rasp of Cole's breathing as he slowly rose from the snow-covered ground, the blood of the red templar streaking his face and his arms, light snow flurries coming down all around him. His aura was a red-hot miasma of violent wretchedness that distorted the atmosphere around him, the air dark and scorching where it touched his body, instantly melting the snowflakes that dared to fall too close to him.

In the taut silence that followed, there was the sound of snow crunching beneath someone's feet. They all turned to find Scout Harding approaching them. The female dwarf's eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her chin trembling, her head shaking softly back in forth with resonating dejectedness.

"We… we lost the red templars' trail at the river," Scout Harding choked out, with tears in her eyes and her voice. "They're… they're gone. We don't know where they've taken the Inquisitor. I'm sorry. I'm so… so sorry."

"I saw the Inquisitor head for her quarters over an hour ago," Josephine whispered, her voice thick with tears. "She could have been ambushed and taken the moment she returned to her room, which would mean—"

"She could be anywhere by now," Leliana finished hollowly, adding to the mounting hopelessness and despair everyone was feeling. "And she's lost a lot of blood."

"Snap out of it, all of you!" Cullen stated firmly after a long silence, refusing to let them all sink into depression when they had a job to do and a rescue mission to lead. "Let's all return to the Inquisitor's quarters to search for more clues on where they might have taken her."

The others agreed and they moved quickly back into the keep.

Cole didn't so much as move. His body was held in a kind of frozen stillness that barely allowed him enough room to breathe, his eyes— pale blue under normal circumstances— looking so black in his milky-white face that they seemed utterly bottomless. They were not seeing much. They looked inwards, staring into the cold, dark recesses of his mind where panic, dread, and sorrow were waiting to grab hold of him once the all-encompassing numbness of shock had worn off.

_She's gone._

A sharp, stabbing pain pierced his torso, something vital breaking inside him.

_I lost her._

Agony - raw and cutting - seared like acid in his heart, singeing a path up his esophagus that was pulled tight, as if encircled by a noose.

_Samson… he took her._

The surge of emotions was like a fountain of pressure building and building inside him. He could feel it behind his eyes; he could feel it inside his gut, a tight ache that burned like fire.

_He hurt her. He will keep hurting her until she's… she's…_

The hurt was excruciating, pulsing and breathing, like a living thing caught in his ribcage, scratching and gnawing at his insides.

_She can't be lost to me. She can't. Not like this. Not like…_

A sudden stillness grabbed hold of Cole, he felt it freeze the muscles in his face. Then, slowly, a red fury began to fill his head and his vision, his anger simmering on the point of eruption as the prospect of life without her loomed like a death sentence.

 _No_ , he thought vehemently.  _I won't let her die._

Cole felt his face go prickly and hot as a sudden sense of urgency overwhelmed him, smothering his desolate hopelessness. An unshakable determination was suddenly born inside of him, growing, swelling until his hands were clenched at his sides and his previously frozen limbs began to tremble with the force of his resolve.

_I won't lose her!_

Cole disappeared and reappeared in his room at the Herald's Rest. He ran to his bed and tore the sheet off and shoved his hand under his pillow. His hand tightened around the metal object before he appeared in the Inquisitor's room where the others had just returned.

With his teeth clenched and his hands coiled, Cole was storming towards Cullen like a hurricane. "You are a templar! Find her!" Cole shouted at him, his blue eyes wide and unfocused, incapable of rational conversation.

Cullen stammered in confusion, "W-What?"

"Track her!" Cole cried, spitting the words out fast and desperate into Cullen's shock-whitened face.

Cullen's wide-eyes looked to the others for help before returning to Cole. "W-What are you—?"

"Use it! Find her!" Cole choked on a sudden upsurge of impassioned despondency as he shoved the object into Cullen's hands.

Cullen's eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the small and round metal object that fit in the palm of his hand. It was a glass vial filled with red liquid that was set within a gold ring that hung from a gold chain. Engraved on the bottom of the gold ring was a name - Ember Laurent.

Cullen's eyes slowly widened as he realized what this was.

"This… this is a phylactery. And… and it has the Inquisitor's name on it." Cullen's head snapped up, eyes rounded in stunned disbelief. "The Inquisitor is a… a  _mage_?!"

"You are a templar. Use it. Track her.  _Find her_!" Cole cried, his voice cracking, scalding tears burning his eyes.

Cullen stammered, "B-But—"

"You will do this. You  _have_  to do this!" A look of sheer desperation swept across Cole's face. "You must do this for me. There is no one else. You have to find her. She's all I have!" His voice was quivering, fading. "Please…  _please_ …"

"I-I can't!" Cullen sputtered, white as a sheet, realizing with dread that he held the means to finding the Inquisitor but not the ability. "I-I would need to take lyrium. And even if I did, I haven't taken it in so long it wouldn't work right away. It takes a while to fully enter your system. I would have to take lyrium for a few days before I could use any templar skills. I-I don't… I won't be able to… I'm s-sorry… I…"

Cullen's words were like a blow to the head from an iron hammer, cracking Cole clean in two, his chest lifting and dropping in a single wrenching gasp of pain. Raw anguish reflected in blue eyes as Cole searched the faces of the Inquisitor's advisors and companions—beseeching, begging,  _pleading_  for them to help him, to do something!

"Cullen can't, but I can," came a quiet voice at the back of the room.

Every eye in the room fell upon Evangeline who was standing tall in her templar armor beside Rhys.

"Please…" Cole's voice dripped with guttural desperation as he looked at her. "Take me to her.  _Please_." His nearly inaudible words came from the deep grieving hollow of his heart.

Evangeline cleared her throat. "I wasn't trained as a tracker, so I cannot promise that I will do it correctly, but I will try."

Cole walked on numb legs to the back of the room. He handed the phylactery to Evangeline with a trembling hand, his eyes swimming with moisture. The moment the cold metal left his palm, Cole twisted his head away, swallowing hard to get himself back under control before uttering thickly, "Thank you."

And then he saw it.

Lying on the floor.

Cole strode tensely toward the fireplace and knelt down to pick something up off the ground.

It was a necklace.

There was a worn leather strap and a wooden, hand-carved charm dangling from it that resembled a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon.

Cole closed his eyes, his face twisting and lips puckering from the hollow pain that beat at his throat, hitting him like a well-placed blow to his diaphragm, cutting off his air. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't. Each time his lungs drew in breath it caught in his throat, forming a large lump that he couldn't swallow.

Cole reached out with his thoughts. He couldn't feel her. Was he too late?

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over if he couldn't force them back… but he couldn't and so they did. Squinting his eyes shut as hard as he could, the water from his eyes leaked and fell onto his cheeks.

 _Don't die_ , he called out.  _I'm coming for you, just as I promised I always would._

Cole looked down at his hand that was gripping the necklace he'd made for her, the strap clenched so tightly in his hand his knuckles had turned white. He slowly released his grip and secured the necklace around his neck, his jaw set like concrete.

 _I won't let you die_.

**Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _The Scientist_  by Coldplay.


	29. Samson

_Draw your last breath, my friends_

_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky_

_Rest at the Maker's right hand_

_And be Forgiven_

_\- Trials 1:16_

It was midnight in Emprise Du Lion . A cold wind was blowing from the north, a swirling storm of flurry and ice, causing flakes of snow to fall unremittingly from the endless blackness above. The wind howled wildly causing the trees in the dark forest to rustle violently and snow to rise from the ground in sheets, forming small whirlwinds that danced along the open expanse of whiteness that covered the ground.

Below the surface of the earth, two red templar foot soldiers stood guard within the secret, underground, red templar base. They looked like normal templars, normal men, but they had been fed red lyrium, and it improved their powers, granted them new ones, and increased their strength beyond what a human body should bear.

In the distance they heard the thudding of what sounded like bodies collapsing to the ground. Moments later, they felt the fiery radiation of  _something_ – something blazing with power – drawing closer to them. They didn't see anything, but the red lyrium allowed them to sense the ominous and mystical energy that was now circling them, like a disembodied predator.

The darkness itself seemed to take on a life of its own by shifting and swaying before their eyes. They felt the hair on the back of their neck rise and a shiver ripple down the backsides of their arms and they instinctively knew that their lives were in imminent danger.

One red templar slowly unsheathed his sword. He didn't see but felt a hand suddenly cover his mouth before cold steel swiped across his throat from ear-to-ear. The red templar reached out a shaking hand to try and warn the man beside him, but all that came out was a strangulated cry before he fell to the floor.

But the red templar beside him heard it, as if from a great distance away, and quickly spun around, brandishing his sword. But all he saw was the other red templar's body on the ground, dead. His eyes anxiously searched the room, his head whipping this way and that as he frantically searched for the invisible threat. He sensed the ghostly force drawing closer, steadfast as winter, undoubtedly a demon needing to taste fresh blood.

"Get… get back, d-demon!" The red templar shrilled, backing away from the enemy he could not see but could sense was coming for him.

And then, he saw it.

Black flames seemed to rise from its body, as if it had been hurled up from the fires of hell and was still scorching. He could  _feel_  the demon's anger. It seemed to twist and curl around it, ribbons of some dark power that fed on its rage, as if to draw strength from it.

The blade in the demon's hand gleamed in the darkness a second before it was buried in an almost imperceptible upward strike into his heart. Blood gurgled in his throat before spilling out of the corners of his mouth to roll in lines down the sides of his mouth and chin. The dagger was immediately ripped free and he fell to the floor, lifeless, just another loud thud on the ground like all the ones before him.

Cole stepped over the fresh corpse at his feet, moving forward, deeper into the massive underground base.

All the fires of hell at his back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Evangeline tossed back another bottle of lyrium as she ran as fast as her legs would carry her through the seemingly endless hallways of the underground red templar base.

She wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes heavy. She didn't know how long she could keep this pace up. Her legs were numb and unsteady, and each step she took was becoming increasingly more difficult to manage.

Suddenly cool, soothing, healing magic washed over her, regenerating her and easing her muscles and achy joints. Evangeline looked over her shoulder and smiled at Rhys who was running behind her, his hands still glowing blue with healing magic and a supportive smile on his face.

Maker, she loved that man.

She turned forward and pushed her legs to go faster through the dismal hallway that reeked of damp dirt and clay with rats squeaking and scurrying in dark corners. Her fingers were sore and sweaty around the Inquisitor's phylactery in her hand.

Back at Skyhold, she'd figured out how to use the phylactery. She, Rhys, and the Inquisitor's advisors and companions had been tracking the Inquisitor non-stop from Skyhold all the way to Emprise Du Lion. But the moment they discovered the underground red templar base, Cole had raced ahead of the group with inhuman speed.

Now they were just following the steady trail of corpses he left in his wake.

Evangeline and Rhys both had memories of the strange young man they'd met back at the White Spire, but their memory was faulty. But the little they did remember was nothing like this. Before he'd been so lost, so utterly alone and so otherworldly, and at times such a terrified little boy. But now he was different. He was no longer lost. He had this little band of warriors that he called family. He seemed to have a purpose with them. He'd also shown more human emotion and more understanding of people than he ever had before. She didn't know how to explain it. He was simply…  _more_.

Moments later and the group burst through a door into a large, dark room filled with red templars. Half were alive and the other half dead. The room swam in blood. It ran off the wooden tables in red rivulets, dripping in soundless spatters on the floor. Severed body parts and fallen red templars covered the ground, arterial spray on the walls. Puddles of blood pooled everywhere. The heavy metallic scent of blood hung so thick in the air it was like a fog.

A red templar came running towards them where they stood in the doorway when the tip of a dagger exploded from the red templar's throat. Mouth still open, his jaw hanging slack, he toppled forward face-first to the stone floor.

Cole was crouched low over the body, daggers poised for attack, fresh blood dripping off the blades onto the stone floor, a dangerous lethality coating the air around him. His chest was heaving with exertion, his black armor and hands drenched in blood as he stood in the center of the room amidst the carnage that surrounded him.

Beneath the wide brim of his hat, the torchlight on the walls etched the hard planes of his face. His white teeth glinted dangerously between tightened bloodless lips, his eyes glowing with unholy light.

Cole suddenly moved as fast as lightening, a mere blur of black and ivory, his daggers slicing into the air. Seconds later, his steel removed a red templar's head from his shoulders, blood spraying out of the headless torso.

"You can't stop me."

Cole vanished in a burst of inhuman speed and reappeared perched on the neck of an unsuspecting red templar. He thrust his dagger into the red templar's back, his dagger and hand coming out the front of the red templar's chest covered in blood.

"None of you can stop me."

Evangeline watched in horror as the spirit of compassion continued to decimate his foes with such brutality and prowess, as if he was bred for it, and the sheer viciousness and efficiency in which he dealt with his enemies shook her to the core.

Death was more a faithful ally to him than foe and within minutes the number of red templars in the room began to dwindle to almost nothing under his ruthless and unstoppable assault.

Cole's face was wrenched with black fury, his eyes shredding into the few remaining red templars with their sinister vehemence. The red templars cowered and tried to flee, but it did not save them from the demon they'd unwittingly unleashed upon them by their abduction of the Inquisitor.

"If she's dead, I'll hunt every last one of you." The murder in his voice rasped across flesh like the serrated edge of a knife. "Every last one, I swear it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Samson exited the infirmary wiping his bloody hands on a white cotton cloth.

"It's done," Samson confirmed with satisfaction to the mage standing outside the door.

"Do you need me to heal her again?" the mage asked.

"No."

"Why didn't you use red lyrium?"

Samson tossed the bloody rag onto the floor. "Because it would have corrupted her mind and possibly the Mark. I want to be able to use the Anchor whenever I want. And now I can. My wish is the Inquisitor's command," he chuckled darkly.

At the end of the hallway, Cole's lips sucked back hard against his tightly clenched teeth. Anger pumped adrenalin into his bloodstream, a red mist swimming across his eyes. Angry did not cover it. Unearthly rage pulsed all around him, firing from his every skin cell.

"I'm drained," Samson said. "Fetch me more red lyrium," he commanded, dismissing the mage. The mage did what he was told and disappeared down another hallway almost instantly.

Cole crept down the hallway toward Samson, a seething mass of barely controlled fury trapped inside sleek dark armor. His blood roared through his veins like an inferno, burning and stinging.

Within seconds, Cole reached the red templar leader. He stood inches away, looking into his eyes, and knew Samson saw nothing, looked right through him.

Cole reached under his black leather vest and drew a wicked looking dagger from its ebony sheath.

_I want you to look into my eyes._

Chips of arctic-colored glass stared into the other man's eyes as he leaned close to Samson, his expression one of deadly intent. Cole continued to stare into Samson's eyes, so close he could smell the man's breath. He could feel it, feel the shroud he'd lain over his eyes. Samson struggled against it, not even aware he was doing so. Cole's temples throbbed painfully.

_You don't see me._

Concentrating, Cole raised the dagger. He maintained eye contact the entire time. Samson didn't react as he placed the serrated edge against his neck. It pressed against his skin, drawing the slightest bit of blood… but Samson still didn't react. He continued to stare, as if nothing was happening.

_You can't see what I do._

Cole cut deep, the man's neck gushing bright blood down the front of his armor. His eyes went wide and Samson gasped, clutching at his throat in panic. The blood flowed more quickly now, staining his armor and dripping onto the floor. Samson grunted, the slightest bit of blood spurting from his mouth. He raised his gauntlet to stare at it, confused. Then Samson let out a single gurgle and reeled back and fell against the wall. The sword he'd unsheathed dropped to the floor with a clatter. He tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood with both hands.

Completely unseen, Cole bent down in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees as he stood balanced on the balls of his feet. His face was inches away from the other man's, though Samson saw through him. Cole stared down into Samson's eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him.

"You're - too - late," Samson uttered with his last breath through his shock-whitened lips that were speckled with blood, the final spark of life leaving his eyes before sinking to the floor, dead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cole burst through the door to the infirmary that Samson had existed only minutes before. Panic closed off his throat and congealed his blood as he spied the dark, crumpled shape lying on the stone ground in the middle of the room surrounded by empty cots, potions, and tools.

True, unfettered fear speared through him at the sight of Ember's form lying so still and silent, wearing nothing but a dirty and bloodied black tunic and black tights, her beautiful tightly-coiled red curls spilling all around her, covering the cold stone around her head.

Horrified by the reality of the scene, his body became an arrow, shooting across the room to her, his hat falling off in the process.

His legs buckled, forcing him helplessly to his knees beside her. Blood covered her torso, oozing slowly from an open gash across her chest and hole in her stomach. Her mouth was slightly open, her front teeth blackened with blood.

He wiped his hands clean before digging one hand into his pocket while the other slid gently beneath her shoulders to lift her enough to place the red vial of a health potion to her bloodless lips, her head hanging limp over his arm. The liquid spilled uselessly across her unmoving lips.

With his face going white with shock to horror then heart-clutching dismay, he laid her gently down on the stone floor. The world suddenly fell eerily quiet and a cold breathless dread squeezed his chest.

Numbly, he leaned over her motionless form. With a shaky hand, he touched her cheek.

Her skin was so cold, like ice.

"E-Ember?" The words seared as they left his pain-stifled throat.

Nothing.

With trembling fingers, he touched her face, her pale lips, the base of her fragile throat, feeling for a pulse, any sign of life.

Her pulse was weak. So weak. And getting weaker.

"EMBER!" Desperation laced his cry. "HELP! I NEED HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" Cole screamed hysterically, searching the empty room for help, his expression one of utter panic as the earth started to tremble, his world beginning to crumble around him.

Trembling hands took her pale face gently in them, acidic fear rising like bile up his esophagus. "Open your eyes,  _dear heart_. See me. See into me…  _please_ ," he pleaded in choking desperation, his insides flipping into a near-crippling agony.

Her head was back, her face bloodless, her eyes closed; she looked…

Cole made a harsh choking sound, his skin feeling as if it were being cut from his bones. Hot, sharp shards of flaming glass hit the backs of his throat and his eyes.

"No. No, no, no…" Cole bent over her unmoving body and pressed his forehead to hers, thumbs caressing her cold cheeks, the feel of wetness swelling beneath his eyelids as cracks started to form in his shape. "Please don't leave me. You said you'd never leave me." His voice cracked on the words that thickly coated his throat. "Don't leave me all alone."

It was only then that Cole noticed Rhys kneeling beside him. Despairing blue irises flickered to land onto Rhys.

"Help her," Cole begged him pitifully. " _Please_ … heal her."

Cole watched Rhys as if from behind a pane of glass as the mage's hands glowed blue with healing magic over her. Nearly an hour later, Rhys sat back on his heels from the still unconscious Inquisitor. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. He'd done it. Somehow, he'd been able to restart the Inquisitor's heart and bring her back from the brink of death.

"She's stable," Rhys murmured, utterly drained of mana.

The entire room seemed to sigh with relief. Most of the Inquisitor's advisors and companions had sat down at some point in the last hour and were sitting on the cots scattered around the infirmary, the torches on the wall the only source of light. But Cole had remained with Ember the entire time, holding her hand, his gaze never straying from her face.

"She'd been beaten up pretty badly and suffered a large gash across her chest and a stab wound to the stomach," Rhys informed the group. "They must have been healing her to keep her from bleeding out. But why would they do that? Why keep her from dying? Why not just let her die?"

Just to make certain, Cole reached out to feel the base of her throat. Her pulse was warm and steady and reassuring.

He frowned as he reached out with his thoughts. There was something… different. He couldn't feel her. Wrong. Something was wrong. It was her, but not  _her_. Inside was hardened and cold, as if someone had snuffed out her burning light. He couldn't feel her warmth. He couldn't see her light. The pulsing power of the Mark on her hand was all he felt, and even that felt different, like it wanted something from him.

"Wrong. All wrong." Cole turned his head to look at Rhys. "Do you see it? Look at her,  _really_  look. Do you see it?" Cole gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath, but the panic that had lodged itself in his system prevented it.

Rhys frowned. "I don't know what—?"

"There's nothing. No light. No fire. No song. All wrong!" Cole burst out, hysteria clawing like madness at his cracking composure. "I  _need_  her here. Why isn't she here? She's somewhere else, far far from me. I don't know why."

Rhys stroked his beard as he looked down at the still unconscious Inquisitor with a questioning look. "Strange. Now that you say it, I sense something but…  _Maker_ , I hope I'm wrong," Rhys muttered to himself as he slowly turned the Inquisitor onto her side. "It's not where it normally is. That's a good sign. Maybe it's not what I think it might…"

Rhys' hand parted Ember's long red curls at the back of her neck to reveal the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck by her father with a branding iron. But that scarred skin was now filled with glowing white liquid that pulsed with magic and could be nothing but lyrium.

Rhys cursed harshly. "She's Tranquil."

With two words, the little breath Cole had left was stolen. It struck so deep that it actually felt as if it might have made him bleed somewhere.

"Tranquil? What exactly that mean?" Sera asked, scared, as she got to her feet from where she'd been sitting on the floor for the past hour.

Rhys stood and turned to face the elf. "Samson is a templar. He performed the Rite of Tranquility on the Inquisitor. The Rite severs a mage's connection to the Fade, and the Tranquil can no longer dream nor draw on the Fade to perform magic. As a side effect, their emotional center is utterly removed."

"Stop talkin' with big friggin' words!" Sera shouted, frantic and frightened. "Say it simple!"

"In one moment, the Inquisitor's mind was branded with lyrium, bringing her to a state devoid of either emotion or sense of self. In the mind of the Tranquil, there is no passion. The Tranquil are striped of their capacity to form anything other than a logical opinion. However, they neither lose their memory nor become automatons: they possess free will, but not the desire to object."

On his knees beside her, Cole's inner world was swaying dizzily, nausea trying to take a grip on his stomach. His stomach heaved, making him gag on bile that burned the back of his throat like acid. He felt like the world as he knew it was being incinerated to ash and he was forced to stand back, helpless but to watch it burn.

No.

It wasn't possible.

He couldn't imagine it.

He couldn't even imagine his Ember with a monotonous voice, a placid smile, and blank, expressionless eyes. An inanimate object that spoke. Passionless. Emotionless. Soulless.

He remembered Ember at the White Spire, so young and terrified of being made Tranquil. It was her greatest fear. She's said she would rather die than live without her soul, than be forced to forever walk aimlessly, unfeelingly, stripped of her abilities, doomed to live as a shell of her former self.

Refusing to accept the truth that was staring at him, Cole tried the only thing he could think to do. But when he put his lips on hers, hoping to reawaken her—to prove that she was still in there, somewhere deep inside the emotionless shell—all he felt was the soul-stripping ache of loss.

As his lips touched hers, he felt the  _wrongness_  of it—there was no response, no warmth, no taste of starlight. All the color, all the light, all the music, gone.

 _Tranquil_.

In choked desolation, Cole pulled back from her and bent his head.

Opened his mouth.

And  _screamed_.

Screamed until his voice cracked and gave out on a throat-shredding howl of agony.

"Someone shut it up. It's freakin' me out!" Sera shrieked as she pressed her hands over her ears. "Shut it up, shut it up, SHUT IT UP!"

Josephine immediately ran over to the archer, holding her close, comforting her and trying to calm her down from her hysterical state.

"Well, what are you waitin' for?" Blackwall bellowed at Rhys. "Wave your magic fingers around and heal her!"

"He can't," Dorian answered grimly. "Can you cure a beheading? The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed— there is nothing left of them to fix."

"That's a lie," Rhys retorted. "The Right of Tranquility can be reversed."

Vivienne gasped. "No. There is no cure. Everyone knows that. Once you're made Tranquil, you remain Tranquil."

Rhys looked sharply at the enchantress. "It can be reversed, I assure you. However, the only way to reverse Tranquility is to draw a spirit or demon from the depths of the Fade and have them touch the mind of the Tranquil. A difficult task, considering a Tranquil mind is all but invisible to these beings."

Vivienne's eyes bulged with disbelief. "That's impossible! The Tranquil are immune to demonic possession!"

Cassandra cleared her throat, "That has been the secret of the Seekers. To be cured, the Tranquil must be pure. If they are able to prove themselves worthy to a spirit in the Fade, then the spirit will touch their mind and they will be freed from Tranquility, as well as made into a Seeker of truth. But if the spirit finds the Tranquil unworthy, then Tranquility will be permanent."

Cole suddenly lifted his head, his expression a tableau of heart-wrenching anguish. "I… I-I am a spirit," he uttered in a small, hoarse voice.

Rhys looked down at Cole where he remained kneeling beside the Inquisitor. "Yes, but you are outside of the Fade."

"I can return to the Fade," Cole rushed urgently, the words tumbling out fast and desperate. "I can return. I can find her. Touch her mind.  _Save her!_ "

"How?" Rhys asked. "A Tranquil's mind is all but invisible to spirits and demons in the Fade."

"She blazes like a flame, glowing like a beacon," Cole answered simply, as if the answer was obvious. "Her hand burns like a bonfire."

"Cole, buddy, you need to think rationally," Bull pressed gently. "There have been hundreds of thousands of Tranquil throughout history, and not a single one has ever been cured. What makes you think that she'll be any different?"

There was a long pause before Cole spoke.

"Because she has me." Quiet, quiet words.

Varric rubbed his forehead. "Wait, wait… if we agreed to actually go through with this insane plan, how will the Kid return to the Fade? He's too human now."

"The Anchor could allow him to pass safely through the Veil in the flesh, just like at Adamant Fortress," Dorian supplied. "It's not like normal magic. She doesn't need a connection to the Fade to use it. She doesn't need to be a mage to use the Mark and create a rift in the Veil and open a doorway into the Fade. I'm sure Samson was counting on that."

"But unlike at Adamant, Cole wouldn't be able to bring the Mark with him and he's too human to slip back through. He wouldn't have a way back!" Varric shouted. "If the Kid goes into the Fade, he's not coming back! You do know that, don't you?!"

Their shouting and arguing became background noise in Cole's ears as his hand wrapped around the back of Ember's neck. He pulled her limp form forward to him, lifting her upper body off the floor, burying his face in the curve of her neck. His other arm slid under her shoulders to clutch her possessively to his chest. She felt so small, tiny, and brittle in his arms that he wondered if her bones would actually snap if he squeezed her too tightly.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he turned his head, his lips brushing against her ear, "Where you go, I go. I will find you in the Fade. I will bring you back. I won't let this world be emptied of you," he whispered, tears in the achy pitch of his voice.

He felt the tears pooling in his eyes and he quickly buried his face in the fire of her hair. He inhaled slowly, taking the scent of her curls into his expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly on an uneven sigh of acceptance that was soul deep. Then, he lowered her slowly, gently back to the ground.

The Mark on her hand sparked to life. The moment its eerie green light touched his skin, Cole somehow knew how to use it.

His eyes dropped from her face to watch his hand move to cover the back of hers. He lifted it to his face. He pressed his lips to her palm, then squeezed his eyes shut on a fresh wave of agony. Then, he turned her hand over so her palm faced forward and slowly extended their combined hands forward until their arms were locked straight.

He concentrated, hard, focusing on her hand, on the power trapped within. The world around him faded to blackness as he concentrated harder, his temples throbbing terribly. The abrupt surge of the Mark's power ripped through him suddenly, piercing painfully into his skin, bathing him in a shower of bright, blinding static.

Swirling unfamiliar energy condensed along his spine and radiated outward. From their combined hands, notes rose through the air wrapped in her green-tinted power and the silvery-white from his own, rising in front of them like steam above a boiling pot to form a rift in the Veil at the back of the room.

Cole lowered her hand to her side and quickly removed the necklace he'd made for her from his neck before securing it around hers. Grief shadowed his face as he put his hand to her chest, to her beating heart, the same beating sound he'd loved her to only days before.

His fingertips trailed over the worn leather necklace hanging around her neck as his hand curved round the back of her neck.

"I love you,  _dear heart_." His voice cracked, blistering tears burning his eyes. "Please remember that."

He touched his lips to hers. It made his chest hurt because this hadn't happened enough. Not nearly enough.

His lips parted hers on a silent, broken sob as two tears slipped from his tightly clenched eyes. His forehead rolled against hers, fingers tight on the nape of her neck as the warm liquid slid slowly down his face to the corners of his mouth, coating his lips with salty tears.

"Never forget me," he begged against her lips, agonized.

Cole stood then and tore across the room with a speed he didn't know he possessed. Heading straight for the rift.

Cole clenched his eyes shut.

He held his breath.

And he  _leapt_.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has two soundtracks. The first half is _The Red_ by Chevelle. The second half is _Your Guardian Angel_ by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. So… wow. Yeah. There is a lot to say about this chapter. One, I wrote most of this chapter way back with the rest of Part I of this story, which was after I read the book Dragon Age: Asunder and before the third game came out. I'd say in summer of 2014. In the book you find out that the rite of tranquility can be reversed by a spirit or demon possessing the Tranquil mage. That blew my mind because up until then the rite was believed to be irreversible and essentially a death sentence. I fell in love with the idea that out of all the companions and love interests in all of the Dragon Age games, Cole would be the only one who could possibly save the Inquisitor from being made Tranquil because he is a spirit.

Also, when Solas grabs the Inquisitor's hand and pushes it forward to close the very first rift she comes across, I thought there might be something more to that. Maybe he was channeling a little bit of his own magic into the Mark to allow her to do that. Anyway, that gave me the idea that Cole might be able to channel his own power into the mark to help the Inquisitor create a rift, even if she was unconscious.

I know it's sad. I let my sister read this chapter and the next one early and she came over in the middle of the night crying and hitting me over the head with a shoe. But I've had this planned from the very beginning and I love it. There are only a few chapters left so hang on. I'm really nervous about what you guys think. So, I would love to hear from you.


	30. Through Varric's Eyes

_The work of man and woman_

_By hubris of their making_

_The sorrow a blight unbearable_

_\- Threnodies 7:11_

I've seen some shit.

People say that a lot, but I've  _really_  seen some shit.

I took one look a young dwarven girl with golden hair and blue eyes and haven't been the same since.

I saw that same dwarven girl skip out on our wedding to be the bride in another.

I saw my brother go crazy, betray me and my friends, and then my own dagger slit his throat.

I saw a mage I considered a friend blow up a Chantry and start a war.

I saw the sky torn open and demons bleed into the world.

Only a few weeks ago I saw my best friend sacrifice herself to save me, one last time.

I saw one of the first darkspawn try to destroy the world.

I saw the red-haired woman I believe to be sent by the Maker kill that darkspawn and save the world.

But this… I've never seen anything like this.

The Kid… he actually  _ran_  toward the rift and  _swan-dived_  into it. He'd jumped headfirst into the Fade without a second of hesitation, entering a world he knew he couldn't return from now that he was too human. But that didn't seem to have entered into the Kid's mind. He'd just… he'd just leapt through that tear in the Veil without a second thought and all on the slim, bare-to-nothing chance that he might save the woman he loved.

 _That_  is some crazy shit.

The rift suddenly closed in on itself and the room was intensely quiet. Every eye in the room was fixed upon the Inquisitor while that mage Rhys continued to heal her.

We waited.

I don't know how long we waited, but we waited.

It felt like forever.

Suddenly, the Inquisitor's eyelids fluttered rapidly and her body jerked around on the floor, shaking and spasming uncontrollably.

"She's seizing!" Rhys yelled as he tried to pry her mouth open so she wouldn't bit out her tongue.

The Inquisitor was suddenly surrounded by a pure, radiant incandescence. And then, she seemed to slam back into her body. It looked like she'd been catapulted and drew in a deep and gasping breath for air that was so loud it echoed in the silence of the room.

The Inquisitor shot up right into a sitting position, her hand outstretched in front of her, as if she was trying desperately to grab hold of something, and screeched, "Cole… NO!"

And then everything was quiet.

We all stared at her, unable to do anything else, keenly aware that Cole had miraculously succeeded in reversing the Rite of Tranquility.

We watched the Inquisitor breathe in great, shuddering gasps, swaying. She clutched the necklace around her neck and doubled over like she'd been kicked in the stomach, and her mouth wrenched wide on a sob that made no sound because she inhaled it at the last second.

My heart broke when she finally raised her head, staring straight at me with large, traumatized eyes. Silent tears ran down her face as those tear-filled eyes stared back at me, so heartbreakingly sad that I wanted to die rather than continue to face them. No one should ever stare out of such shattered eyes.

Gut-wrenching sobs suddenly sprung from her, as if a dam inside her had broken loose. Over and over again she cried out the Kid's name, her chest heaving and rupturing, wracking sobs clawing out of her. She was rocking back and forth, sobbing, bawling. Crying so hard her whole body was a shaking, a shivering ball of anguish.

My eyes pricked painfully and I hung my head as the sound of her pain hit me like a dragon tail to the gut. I stood there, a useless bastard, helplessly listening to the Inquisitor – the Herald of Andraste – weep her soul to shreds.

The Inquisitor was sitting upright on the floor, her arms wrapping so tightly around her middle, as if she was trying desperately to keep something vital inside.

And then her head fell back and she  _screamed_.

And, Maker, it was an inhuman sound, the wail that suddenly broke from her chest.

I not only heard it, but  _felt_  it- the raw and primal scream that undoubtedly shredded the tender insides of her throat until all of the air in her lungs was gone. It was the agonized, heartrending cry of a mortally wounded and dying creature. No one was immune to it. Everyone in the room froze in dismay, felt their own tears welling up inside them, the piercing sound of her heartbreak and the harrowing echo of her unbearable sorrow and grief hitting each and every one of us in a place that was tender and vulnerable.

On mechanic feet, I drew closer to her. I fell numbly to my knees in front of her and closed my arms around her, using the flat of my hand to ease her face into my hairy chest.

The Inquisitor automatically clutched the lapels of my coat, desperately seeking comfort, and I did not try to ease her fingers free. I just held her as the deep well of her agony opened up and came pouring out. She let go of it all in long, soul-wrenching sobs with barely distinguishable words winding through them.

 _Cole_ , I recognized, and  _dear heart_ , but nothing else.

I didn't need to understand her words to understand her pain.

I suddenly saw a hand come to rest on the Inquisitor's heaving back - a hand that belonged to Cullen.

Another hand came to rest on the back of the Inquisitor's head: Leliana.

One on her shoulder: Josephine.

One on her other shoulder: Bull.

Within seconds, every damn one of us was touching her, offering her our strength, tears in our eyes or rolling silently down our cheeks.

None of them had known.

Not a damn one had known until the day she'd been taken what she had meant to the Kid or what he'd meant to her.

No one had known but me.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _One Moment More (Acoustic Version)_  by Mindy Smith. This is not the last chapter. There are two more chapters after this.


	31. The House That Built Me

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me_

_I shall embrace the light_

_I shall weather the storm_

_I shall endure_

_What you have created, no one can tear asunder_

_\- Trials 1:10_

_Two Years Later_

_The Dales_

_Orlais_

Ember Laurent, once leader of the now disbanded Inquisition, stood on top of a verdant hill surrounded by Orlesian farmlands. A clear sky was bursting with pink and gold as the sun peeked over the horizon.

The now twenty-six year old woman was too thin, her collarbones visible beneath her drab, grey tunic, her black tights loose on her skinny legs. Her waist-length curls lacked the vibrant red she'd once been known for. And she was too pale, dark circles ringing her once bright, aquamarine eyes. They were dull now, seeing yet never engaged. Hollow-eyed and wan-faced, she bore the miserable appearance of having seen better days, and having uncommonly bad ones now.

The run-down farmhouse off in the distance looked abandoned. It was eighteen long years since she'd last looked out on the Laurent farm, and after today it would be another eighteen years before she looked out on it again—if ever.

This place wasn't home. It never had been. Home was where the heart was. Well, she believed her heart had been taken from her two years ago, so home, these days, tended to be any place she could lay her head.

She remembered being ambushed in her room by Samson. She remembered pain. She remembered feeling disconnected from herself, as if her mind and body were two separate things. But most of all, she remembered Cole. She remembered the moment he'd touched her mind in the deep, dark place it had been trapped in.

She remembered it so clearly. It was hard to describe. It was comforting… she had felt safe, consoled, cherished. It had been like being held close by him, cradled… the bond had been so complete that she had been unable to extricate herself, nor did she wish to. There had been a constant warmth, that had spread outwards from the very center of her being, infusing her body with happiness, completeness, and unimaginable love.

But it had been ripped away.

She'd awoken to find herself in a world stripped of the single greatest thing in it. How was she supposed to cope with that? How was she supposed to survive that? She wasn't. She  _couldn't_. No one survived with only half of their heart. And now she knew why.

At the red templar base, once she'd been able to get a grip on herself, she'd entered the Fade physically by using the Anchor, rushing in after him. But the moment she'd entered the Fade in the flesh she'd been swarmed by hundreds of demons, some more powerful than the fear demon they'd faced before, as if they had been watching and waiting for her. It seemed she was the ultimate prize and they'd all been ravenous for possession of her power and soul. In her weakened state she was an easy picking, the Anchor on her hand like a beacon for them to locate her.

After mere seconds in the Fade, she'd been dragged back into this world by her companions, kicking and screaming, raging at the sheer injustice of it all. What did they ever do to deserve this? What had they done that was so damn wrong to deserve this cruel fate?

Her advisors watched her closely after that to make sure she didn't use the Anchor again. She was kept like a prisoner under lock and key and subject to heavy surveillance. She wasn't allowed a moment alone. They didn't trust her. They said she couldn't kill herself by using the Anchor to go after him. They said she was too important. They said they needed her, that the world needed her to fix it. They said Cole's sacrifice would be for nothing if she let herself be killed trying to bring him back.

She hadn't used the Anchor since. They'd thought she'd listened to them. They'd thought she hadn't used the Anchor again because she didn't want Cole's sacrifice to have been in vain. But they'd been wrong. The truth was her hand had been dying. She'd been unable to control the Anchor after that. She hadn't been able to use it to enter the Fade in the flesh. She hadn't been able to  _save_  him like he'd saved her.

She'd forced herself to continue on as the Inquisitor, putting one foot in front of the other, wearing out each day in an endless cycle. She'd spoken when they'd told her to speak, she'd fought when they'd told her to fight, and she'd eaten when they'd said eat. But she wasn't living. Her soul had been ripped from its other half, and no soul could survive something like that. It became a husk, an empty shell of what it once was.

She'd fallen into a state of limbo where life had taken on colorless shapes of muted greys and nothing came into full focus any more. She'd become hollow, more akin to a corpse. Ironic, wasn't it, that he'd saved her from Tranquility when Tranquil was exactly what she'd become without him.

Sometimes, when she was her lowest, she would lie just like she'd done when she was eight-years-old and being taken away by templars, on her side with her arm stretched out in front of her, her palm up.

And she would wait. Wait to see if Cole would magically appear like he always did, out of thin air, and hold her hand just like he did all those years ago.

But he never did. Hours would go by, and ever muscle would ache from not moving an inch, waiting… waiting…

But he never came.

When she slept she went to the Fade where she searched for him every night. But she'd never seen him, not once in two years.

Unfortunately, the demons that always came for her in her sleep were becoming harder and harder to resist. She was becoming vulnerable to them and their deceptions. Every night they tempted her with the one thing she so desperately wanted.

 _Open your mind to me, mage, and I'll return him to you,_  they would whisper and she would hesitate, sorely tempted to just say yes and give in to their possession just so she could see him one more time.

But she couldn't give in. She  _couldn't_. They were just lies. What would Cole say if he saw her about to let a demon possess her? After all he had done to reverse the Right of Tranquility, how could she just throw it away? Just the thought of it made her sick.

Ember hung her head in exhaustion, the sun hot on her skin. She was tired. Maker was she tired. It went beyond her throbbing skull. It transcended her flesh and ran deeper than her bones. And her left palm was itchy. Always itchy. But when she tried to scratch it she remember she couldn't. Sometimes she forgot that her left hand wasn't there anymore.

 _Maker, but life can be a cruel and heartless bitch_ , she thought with sudden raw bitterness, staring down her missing hand and forearm.

Two months ago, after using the Eluvian network to track him down, Solas had asked her why she continued to fight for this world when it had taken so much from her.

"That's the world," she'd managed to say through the pain in her hand. "Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes—and it's gone forever. The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. I keep going because  _he_  would want me too. Cole believed there was good in this world worth saving at any cost."

"Cole believed  _you_  were worth saving, not this world."

After a long pause she'd asked the question she'd been ashamed to ask, but was too weak not to, "If you tore down the Veil… would I get to see Cole again?"

"No," Solas had answered. "This world would be destroyed and everything in it, including you."

She'd swallowed that bitter pill. "Well then, I'd better get to stopping you, now shouldn't I?"

"You can't stop me."

"I  _will_  stop you. I swear it."

"How?"

"Anyway I can." Ember had gritted her teeth, watched in immeasurable pain as her left hand, in fact everything below her elbow, had turned to stone. "Even if it means meeting you six feet under, I'll see you dead before I allow you to slaughter the innocent people of this world.  _They_  are worth saving.  _They_  are worth dying for. Cole would see you as an enemy for threatening to harm them."

"You may be right," had been Solas' grim answer. "But my path is set."

"Then so is mine."

Ember frowned as she looked down at her missing hand, the scarred stub of her elbow. She didn't know how she could stop Solas now. She couldn't fight him, she knew that. Not any more. But perhaps she could investigate, work in the shadows, find something that could stop him.

Ember slowly made her way down the hill towards the house that held so many horrible and haunting memories. There was one burned down barn beside one that was barely standing, both neighboring a small, white farmhouse that was weathered, beaten, but sturdy in spite of itself.

The spring air was slightly warmer than that of the cool north where she'd been living. The trees here were tall and green, the sky open, the soil dry beneath her knee-high black boots as she walked. She wasn't sure why she'd stopped here. It had been on the way to the Temple of Mythal, sure, but she hated this place. Perhaps she'd been drawn here because this was where she'd first touched Cole – when he'd held her hand when she was eight-years-old. Eighteen years ago today.

"Happy Birthday."

Ember's steps didn't falter, didn't stop, but her eyes slid to the side toward the male voice that had penetrated the haze in her mind. Her eyes locked with haunted blue orbs set within a ghostly-white face with shaggy blonde strands hanging into them.

 _Oh Maker, not now,_  she thought wretchedly as Cole's sweet, smiling face looking at her just to torment her.

She rolled her lips inward. The first time she'd seen him—about six months after she'd lost him—she'd been so shocked she'd fallen out of her bed. He'd just appeared in her room at Skyhold, staring at her, smiling at her. She'd run up to him, tried to throw her arms around him, but she'd held nothing but air. That was when she'd realized that she was just seeing things, things her mind so desperately wanted to see to fill the void of depression and despair that had filled her in those first few months he'd been gone.

Did people do that? Did people actually go crazy because someone they loved died? Or was it because he'd touched her mind for that split second in time and this was a result of that brief possession, like a residue of his essence on her brain?

"Or maybe you're just so sad you need me to be real, even if it's just in your mind," her imaginary Cole said beside her, reading her thoughts.

Ember looked away from him, picking up her pace. The real Cole couldn't read her mind. And the real Cole didn't talk like that. She could never get his dialogue right. He always talked just like her.

Ember knew the Cole walking beside her right now was just a figment of her imagination, but he'd been an essential part of her mending process. He was like a tranquilizer; he helped keep the pain at bay in order to survive. She'd rather have him like this than not at all. It was a defense mechanism, one that kept her sane but also insane.

A moment later, Ember stopped far from the farmhouse, unable to make herself get any closer. She swallowed, watching it from the edge of the field. The dark windows over the door stared back at her like a pair of malevolent eyes.

The house was completely dilapidated. The front porch had almost rotted away completely, the wood was practically falling out of the walls, the foundation had sunk so low on the right that the small house was leaning noticeably. The windows were boarded up and there was a giant hole in the roof. She couldn't help but wonder when and how the people who'd once lived there died.

"Maybe they were eaten by darkspawn?" Cole said, answering her unspoken question.

"Or the roof collapsed on top of them," she replied impassively.

"This is not a good place," her imaginary Cole murmured beside her.

Ember looked at him and shook her head.

_No, Cole wouldn't say that. More like…_

"This place has many secrets," Cole said instead.

Ember shook her head again.

_No, Cole wouldn't say that either. More like…_

"There are secrets in this house," he obliged her.

_No, that's not right either._

She frowned and Cole disappeared.

 _Cole wouldn't just be standing there,_ she thought.  _He would be sitting cross-legged… on top of something… like that tree stump over there._

Cole appeared sitting cross-legged on the tree stump a few feet away from her.

_And he would be wearing a hat._

A hat appeared on top of Cole's head.

_A bigger hat._

The hat grew.

_And it would hide his eyes. He never liked the feeling of people's eyes on him._

The hat was pulled low over his eyes.

_There. Much better._

She smiled, pleased with the image.

_Now, what would he say…?_

Illusory Cole looked up at her from beneath the wide brim of his hat. "Secrets are in the floors and the walls that will remain until they are dust and gone."

Ember nodded with grinning satisfaction.

_Bingo._

But her smile slowly fell from her face, a lump forming in her throat. This wasn't Cole. Not the real Cole. It wasn't him. It would never be him. Cole was gone. She couldn't bring him back. She would never see him again. Never. And she just… just couldn't cope with that. How could she?

The lump in her throat changed into a burn as tears decided to take its place. "I miss you." The words scraped across her dry lips. "I miss you so bad."

"I know," her fake Cole said, but his voice had changed. Each day he was starting to sound more and more like her own voice.

He faded to nothing before her eyes, returning to that place in her mind where she kept him.

Heaviness lay on her heart like a boulder. By all appearances, she was losing her mind. Sane people didn't see what she saw, heard what she heard. Sane people didn't see ghosts.

But he wasn't a ghost. He was a figment of her imagination, a means of protecting her fragile psyche from harm.  _She_  was the ghost. In her mind, she was dead already. She was a ghost who had been granted a few years on earth to deal with certain obligations. But she was a ghost. She felt filled with a black void of emptiness, permeated by an icy numbness that felt akin to death.

Silently, Ember entered the decrepit and abandoned farmhouse. She walked its halls and entered its rooms, but quickly escaped out the front door. The moment she was outside again she came to a halt. She screwed her eyes closed and cringed as a spasm of pain surged through her left arm, or what remained of it. She quickly palmed the stump of her missing arm and gritted her teeth against the cutting pain. It was strange, but she could still feel pain in a hand that had been gone for two months now.

With short, labored breaths, she used her only remaining hand to dig into her pack and quickly swallowed one of the potions Vivienne had made for her. The blessed numbness from the narcotic pain reliever in the bottle began to spread inside her, like fast moving poison, anesthetizing her, thankfully shutting the pain down; where minutes before it was like a throbbing, unbearable ache, it was suddenly reduced to merciful nothing. But it didn't banish the anguish that persistently plagued her, the sense of despair she felt for what she'd lost.

Ember opened her eyes to the house she loathed, to the barn where she'd been strung up and whipped. She glared murderously at it all.

To hell with this place.

With a flick of her wrist, she watched with an odd sort of satisfaction as a fireball crashed into the roof, setting the place a blaze. The angry flames poured fourth to the exterior walls. Ember could hear the wood studs and rafters pop and crumble, as the fire chewed and devoured the building.

The Inquisitor turned her back on the burning structure and headed back to her horse. She was done with this place. It had been a mistake to come here. But it had felt damn good to see it burn.

It took a few tries with only one hand, but Ember managed to pull herself into the saddle. She rode Tadwinks swiftly across the grassy dales, hopping a few farmers' fences, and then entered the Arbor Wilds.

She raced on horseback through the dense forest towards the Temple of Mythal. The only sound was of hoofs hitting the ground and the faint squeaking of worn leather as she tried her best to maneuver through the tight cluster of trees with only one hand on the reins. The forest was getting denser the further in she got, making it harder to stay on the dirt path that seemed to completely disappear at times.

The Inquisitor didn't particularly enjoy the long journey it took to get to the Arbor Wilds from Val Royeaux, but it was necessary. She was trying to recruit allies, trying to learn more about Solas so she could predict what he was going to do, trying to find something that could stop him. She figured the Temple of Mythal could help her.

Ember's skin suddenly crawled and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She felt like someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck, about to grab her. She peered behind her to see if she was being followed.

She wasn't. There was no one there. Still, she prodded her horse faster and picked up speed, just in case. She wasn't stupid. She knew how many enemies she had, how many people wanted her dead. She wouldn't be surprised if she was being tracked right this very minute by an Antivan Crow.

The temple was up ahead, but the Inquisitor had to squint against the glare of the setting sun to see it. When she reached it, she reined her horse and sharply turned, racing through the forest towards the entrance. Eventually she stopped, Tadwinks sweating and needing to be fed. Ember pulled up her horse, and paced around trying to control the steed.

She lifted one leg over the pommel and hopped to the ground. She tossed the reins over the horse's head, took them in her hand, and started to pull, leading her horse to the trees that lined the entrance of the temple.

It was difficult, but she managed to somewhat tie her reins to one of the smaller trees. She then took a carrot from her pack that was tied to the pommel. She rubbed Tadwinks' white nose before holding out her palm and letting her eat the treat from her hand. Ember nuzzled her horse and cooed, patting her soft white nose. Tadwinks nickered and snorted before bowing her head to a little pool of water to drink.

Within the temple, the halls were empty. Ember looked around, surprised to find the temple deserted. Where were the sentinel elves? Did they leave? What about their oaths? Had they been recruited to Solas' side? Did that mean Mythal had joined him as well?

Alone Ember walked through the temple, trying to remember how to get to the Well of Sorrows. When she reached the lower levels, she suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling that settled between her shoulder blades, as if she were being watched.

Body tense, ready for combat, Ember listened carefully. The sound of a branch snapping came from off to her right and she quickly spun around, dagger in her hand ready to fight. She expected to see a bear or a spider, but there was nothing.

"It's quiet," her imaginary Cole said, suddenly standing beside her.

"Too quiet," she answered uneasily.

"Be careful."

Nearly an hour later, Ember approached the Well of Sorrows that stood in front of the large resident Eluvian. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but hoped she'd find something that would help them defeat Solas.

As she drew closer, Ember noticed a pile of stone and wildflowers lying in front of the mirror. She didn't remember seeing that the last time she was here. Although at that time she'd been unconscious and had to be carried through the Eluvian by Blackwall.

Moments later, Ember's eyes widened as she realized that the pile of stone was actually a person, a person who looked like they'd been turned to stone. And it wasn't just any person, it looked like… like Flemeth!

_What the hell happened here?!_

Flemeth's body was solid stone, but she rested peacefully on her back with her hands crossed over her chest. Wildflowers of every color had been placed around her, outlining her body. It looked like someone had moved her here for a memorial of sorts. In the last remaining rays of sunlight, Flemeth's stone form looked quite picturesque surrounded by such lovely blossoms, which appeared to have been enchanted so that the flowers would never die.

Ember swallowed before bending down to press two fingers to the stone figure's neck, checking for a pulse.

"Stone doesn't have a pulse," Cole said, sitting high in a tree a few yards away, his legs dangling in the air.

"Solas must've done this," she whispered, studying the stone beneath her fingers, recognizing it from two months ago. "But why? Wouldn't the vessel of Mythal be more of a friend to Fen'Harel than an enemy? I mean, they are both elven gods, right? Old friends?"

"Perhaps Flemeth didn't agree with his goal," Cole answered simply, legs swinging from his perch on the high branch.

"So he prevented her from helping us by turning her to stone."

Ember grimly stared into Flemeth's stone face. She didn't know how to help the vessel of Mythal. She would have to try and get a hold of Morrigan. Perhaps she could do something to help her mother.

Cole shook his head at her thoughts. "The swamp witch disappeared a year ago."

"Leliana must know how to reach her." Ember's eyes flicked up to meet his. "But what was Flemeth doing here?"

He shrugged. "Maybe she followed Solas here? Or maybe he followed her here?"

Ember stood and scratched the tender skin of her scarred elbow. It itched. "Maybe Flemeth came here to try and help the Inquisition. Maybe she was trying to stop Solas but had been interrupted."

His head tilted. "You think she was here to perform a spell."

"Yes, and no. Maybe…" Ember's blue-green eyes searched the area around the Well of Sorrows. "This is her temple, right? Mythal's? This is where she'd stationed sentinel elves to guard her Well of Sorrows. Maybe…"

"Maybe they were guarding more than just the Well of Sorrows," he completed her thought.

Ember nodded. "It makes sense. With the Well of Sorrows sitting right here, who would think to look for something else that Mythal might have wanted protected, hidden?"

Cole spoke her next thought out loud. "Like her own orb of power, similar to Solas' orb."

"Exactly," she replied, growing excited, hopeful. "If Mythal didn't agree with Solas' goal, she would have come here for her own orb to stop him. But he must've reached her before she could retrieve it, and turned her to stone."

Cole smiled. "If an orb of power truly is here, and if you could somehow find it, maybe you could use it to stop Solas!"

Excitement and eagerness rose within her at that thought.  _Could it really be possible? Was there an orb of power within her grasp? Could she really be that lucky?_

"You won't know until you look," Cole answered her thoughts.

Cole disappeared, retreating back into the special compartment in her mind where she kept him.

For a long time Ember just stood there, staring down at Flemeth, trying to understanding what the old woman had been thinking and planning before she'd been turned to stone.

Ember's head snapped up abruptly, her brows furrowing. She thought she heard her name being called by a female voice, by  _Flemeth's_  voice. But that was impossible.  _Wasn't it?_

Ember heard her name being called again and whipped around to find the sound was just the whine of an old gate several yards away creaking open. Her eyes narrowed on it. That gate hadn't been there when she'd walked in, but here it was.

Magic. There was no other explanation. But who's magic?

The Inquisitor looked around the Well of Sorrows before returning her gaze to the old gate. She wondered where it led, wondered why she was being granted entry. Perhaps it had been Flemeth's wish.

Ember walked over to the old gate and pushed it open with a loud creak. She felt a chill as she walked down the slope of a hill toward the lush meadow that rested at the bottom, half expecting the gate to close behind her. It was as if she were stepping into another world, a secret world meant only for her to find.

She shooed off mosquitoes, gnats, and mayflies as she continued down the narrow and faint dirt path that was lined with thick bushes of hazel and dogberry. Once she reached the bottom of the hill, she scanned the lush, open meadow that was overgrown with lavender. There was purple everywhere she looked, flowers gently swaying in the evening's breeze along with a scent that was both pleasant and somehow too sweet.

Wind whipped around her, catching and lifting my fiery curls, tossing strands over her eyes. The sun was disappearing now, setting the skies aflame with hues of amber and bronze with its last lingering light, casting an orange glow of sunset as dusk finally settled in. The tall trees that lined the meadow were fully leafed, draped across the sky like a canopy. The only sound was the low hum of inspects flying around her and the quiet sound of birdsong and breezes.

There was a large willow tree at the back of the meadow. Her eyes passed over it but quickly returned to narrow on it. The air behind the willow was alight with strange, shimmering ribbons of light.

She was walking now, slow and unhurried, but with purpose toward the willow. Her feet carried her forward and she obeyed. There was magic falling from the leaves of the willow tree, as if it was cloaking something, hiding something. If she concentrated, she could hear the low hum of magical energy within the wizened trunk, sluggish with sweet sap that was thick with enchantment.

She used her hand to push aside the leaves of the willow tree swaying with the wind and bent forward, disappearing in the leaves. The supple branches brushed over the back of her head and neck.

Once she'd cleared the branches, her back straightened and she pulled up short. Wide-eyed, she stared at what Flemeth had hidden here and what she'd come back for.

But it wasn't an orb of power.

It was another Eluvian.

"Fen'Harel enansal," Ember murmured, and thankfully the Dread Wolf's blessing was the key to this particular Eluvian, activating it with a burst of light and magical energy.

Ember bit her lip nervously. With growing apprehension she cupped the stub of her missing arm in an uneasy gesture. But then she squared her shoulders and stepped through the Eluvian.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Here With Me_ by Susie Suh & Robot Koch. 


	32. The Broken Mirror

 

_The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal_

_But know that the sun always rises_

_\- Chant of Light_

Ember stood alone in the Crossroads, only it wasn't like any part of the Crossroads she'd ever seen before. It looked like the courtyard in front of the Winter Palace. This courtyard was covered in grass and a few paved walkways. Ivy grew in a splendor of vibrant green shades on the stone walls. There were several lofty myrtle trees scattered about along with ferns, moss, and wildflowers growing in brilliant profusion.

Normally the Crossroads was full of randomly placed Eluvians that stretched as far as the eye could see. But in this small courtyard there was only one other Eluvian besides the one she'd come through.

The question with every Eluvian was not "What does it do?" but rather "Where does it lead?" Eluvians were portals. Most Eluvians lead you to what Morrigan called "The Crossroads," which was a place where all Eluvians join, wherever they might be. This place was the Crossroads, or at least a place like it, a place that was between worlds.

Elven words were carved in the mirror's golden frame. Most of them were unintelligible gibberish, but a few words were clear: "Mythal lasa ghilan," which Ember knew translated to "Mythal grants guidance." There was also "Atish'all vir sethen'an for ros elgar'enansal ir Mythal falon'lin." She knew "falon" meant friend. So, Mythal's friend? She also knew "elgar" meant spirit and that "enansal" meant blessing, but she couldn't translate the rest. Her elvish was terrible.

But there was one word that was very clear and carved into the golden frame multiple times: "Sethen'an." Ember knew what that word meant. It meant "Land of Dreams," which was what the elves called the Fade.

Her heart lurched against her breastbone, the oxygen locking at the foot of her convulsed throat, her mind racing. Not all Eluvians lead back to her world, some lead to other places, like the Beyond or even the Fade, if legends were true.

 _Sethen'an_. Ember's eyes remained fixed on that one word as excitement raced through her. Was it possible that this Eluvian lead to the Fade?

Hope. Maker helper her, but she was being filled with it. Dare she even hope that this Eluvian could lead her into the Fade where _he_ was? Nothing was more treacherous than hope.

On unsteady legs, Ember walked up to the mirror and slowly reached out her hand to touch it. There was no reflection, no light, no colors. It wasn't activated. Some Eluvians were unlocked, like doors accidentally left ajar, but all the others could only be opened with a key. The key could be many things. Each Eluvian was different. She had to figure out the key to this Eluvian. This Eluvian could lead her to _him_. This had to work. It _had_ too.

With her lungs wrung so tight it was hard to breathe, Ember creaked out the Dread Wolf's blessing, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Nothing.

"Maybe in the common tongue?" Imaginary Cole suggested beside her, speaking her thoughts out loud.

"Dread Wolf blessing," Ember translated the Dread Wolf's blessing into the common tongue.

Nothing.

She tried again. "Fen'Harel ma ghilana."

She tried that in the common tongue. "Dread Wolf guides you."

Nothing.

She tried, "Fen'Harel ma halam."

Common tongue. "Dread Wolf ends you."

Nothing.

Ember's expression tightened and she started listing off anything she thought might be the key: "Mythal, Flemeth, Asha'belannar, Solas, Sethen'an, Vir Abelasan, Abelas, Evanuris, Inquisition, Inquisitor, Ember Laurent…"

Nothing.

She summoned magic and channeled it into the mirror.

When nothing happened she tried again. And again. And again.

For what felt like forever she was summoning spells, casting them at the mirror one after another, trying anything that might activate the mirror.

Nothing.

Out of mana, she felt a devastating mix of frustration, panic, and red-hot fury swim up from the pit of her stomach to encompass her whole being.

Teeth grinding together, her fist shot out and hit the golden frame, causing the mirror to wobble.

"Activate!" she commanded the glass.

When nothing happened her palm smacked the golden frame, _hard_.

"Activate, damn you!"

Nothing.

Ember let out a scream that had been pent up for two long years and the stub of her missing arm flew forward in her rage and collided against the glass. There was a loud creaking sound, but the mirror didn't break. A smear of blood streaked the mirror from the fresh scar on her elbow.

"Give him back!" she screamed at the mirror.

She began hitting the mirror, kicking it, screaming.

"Give him back, give him back, _give him back!_ " Her voice broke on the last words.

For several minutes she lashed out at the mirror with everything in her, hitting it with her hand and what remained of her other arm, sapping strength from deep inside.

 _Don't be lost to me. Please, please, please_. The small voice echoed in her mind.

Despair, dark and deep, suddenly engulfed her, gripping her so tightly she became immobile. Her mind suddenly went blank, reaction setting in to take her off somewhere deep inside herself where no one else could go.

She felt pain and winced when she cupped the stub of her missing arm that was now throbbing, wiping the blood away.

"Are you okay?" Her imaginary Cole asked beside her, but it was only her own voice she heard coming out of his mouth.

Disillusionment cut to the bone, and she felt her spirits sink so low.

_Not real. Not real. You're out of you damn mind._

"Go away," she croaked. "You don't exist." Her throat worked. "You're not real, but _he_ was."

He disappeared and she had a feeling he would never come back.

Hollow-eyed, she found herself staring at the mirror. She felt so numb, unable to quite take in the truth… that she had failed yet again to reach him. She couldn't save him. He was hers, and she couldn't save him. She was right here, _so close_ , and she couldn't bring him back. She contemplated another day of this so-called life. The prospect of just sitting around for another year or so until Solas killed her, living each day without Cole, was soul-crushing.

She suddenly had a mountain on her chest, painful pressure at the backs of her eyes. She stared at the glass until it began to blur from the tears that clouded her vision.

Slowly, in a daze, Ember turned her back to the mirror. She managed to take a few shaky steps toward the other mirror to return to her world before her legs gave out and she sank uneasily to her knees. The damp from the grass seeped into her leggings but she didn't notice. She didn't notice anything. She simply stared at the ground with dead eyes, completely and utterly alone in every sense of the word. She had no family, no friends, no hand, no Cole…

On its own volition, her palm pressed against the skin over her heart and her fingertips slowly curled, digging unmercifully into her flesh.

 _Cut it out_ , she wordlessly pleaded to whatever higher power. _Take it and cut it out of me. Get it out!_

She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her eyes into her hand. Her shoulders began to shake as the sobs violently broke free. The sobs came out hard as punches, tearing at her chest and throat, squeezing her ribs.

She felt like she was falling—falling for what seemed like forever into terrible, all-enveloping, mind-numbing blackness…

But through the tunnel-dark recesses of her consciousness she was distantly aware of the sound of grass crunching behind her.

Her eyes slowly lifted from her hand, brows pulling together as she felt every hair on the back of her neck rise to attention.

Her body tensed when she heard something fall softly to the grass behind her.

Her hand fell limply into her lap, her eyes shifting frantically in her skull as she stared down at the grass in front of her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone completely dry.

_Not real. Not real._

She clenched her eyes shut and told her mind to stop tormenting her. She couldn't continue to lose herself in the blissful relief of an illusion her insane mind had created.

Suddenly she felt the air shift behind her and then a vague sense of warmth at her back.

_It's just an illusion. Just an illusion._

She felt something brush against her from behind.

Her skin prickled, a fine tremor of response rippling through her whole body, her heart straining against a sudden fierce tightening across her torso.

Heart pounding as if injected with adrenaline, Ember remained kneeling but slowly turned around.

Her eyes instantly rounded, her mouth locked in a silent cry.

The Eluvian was activated, bright and incandescent, the glass looking like it was filled with swirling blue and white light.

But that's not what she was staring at.

Shaggy blonde hair. Lily-white skin. Haunted, haunted eyes.

For the next few horrible seconds she felt as if she were falling off the edge of a cliff! Her blood roared through her veins and the air sealed inside lungs that suddenly ceased to function.

Numbly, she shook her head in denial, her dense cloud of spiraling red curls rippling round her pale face. No, her mind was telling her. She was hallucinating—dreaming him up again.

She blinked once. Twice.

He didn't disappear. He remained kneeing on the grass directly in front of her, so close he was almost on top of her.

Her eyes scanned his face and her heart flipped over, then began to beat wildly. This wasn't the Cole her mind usually created. His hair was longer, darker in color. His face was more rugged and he looked older, thinner. A scar split his right eyebrow down the middle and continued on his cheek, as if someone had dragged the point of a blade, or a claw, down the middle of his eye.

_Not an illusion._

Her heart gave a frantic leap behind her breastbone and every muscle pulled taut.

_This is real._

She could feel the blood draining from her face, the sudden cold, clamminess of her flesh. She was in the grip of a shock so extreme she was paralyzed by it.

_Cole._

He was kneeling right in front of her, so close she could reach out and touch his face. He was trembling, violently, and she could see the almost visceral relief that seemed to pour out of him as his eyes gorged on every facet of her face.

 _It's him._ _The real_ _him._

His gaze filled with tears before two drops slipped the corners of his eyes to roll slowly down his cheeks.

Tears stung hotly in her throat and her mouth wobbled. She had to push a hand up to cover it. Her own tears split her vision into a million fragmented parts and then with one blink hot tears tracked down her face. Then she unpeeled her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth and let her hand fall from her trembling lips.

"What took you so long?" she reprimanded, her voice cracking.

There was a long silence, those depthless blue eyes burning into hers, and then his hands captured her face and he lowered his mouth to hers.

Tears trickled down her cheeks to seep into his thumbs that pressed into her cheekbones. Her lips parted and she sobbed into his mouth, could hardly kiss him for the way her lips trembled. His mouth pressed harder against hers to keep their lips locked, every inch of him shaking. Her hand gripped the nape of his neck, squeezing him as if she were clinging to life. Her lips clung to his and she could actually feel her soul connect with its other half, making her feel complete for the first time in two years.

Slowly, he pulled back, and with a broad sigh of relief, he rested his forehead upon hers, his hands still cupping her face as though he'd never let go.

Her forehead rolled against his, desperate to believe this was really happening, terrified it wasn't. "P-Please tell me I-I'm not imagining you," she pleaded, sniffling. "L-Let this n-not be another illusion."

His nose was pink, his smile wobbly. _"Dear heart…"_

She inhaled sharply, her chest tightening painfully, fresh tears filling her eyes. Maker help her, his voice was the single greatest sound she'd ever heard.

She lifted her hand to trace the unfamiliar scar splitting his eyebrow with her fingertips, her expression open and vulnerable. "It's you? It's really you?"

"I am me," he managed in a broken voice.

With a watery smile she let her fingers run over his face, through his hair, down the back of his neck, still trying to convince herself that he was real and he was here and she was touching him. Her gaze flickered up to find his gaze soft on her face, filled with such tenderness that it made her heart stand still.

"You're you again?" he croaked. "You bear the mark, but not the curse?" He swallowed with difficulty, stammering, "I-I… I helped?"

A sob tore violently from her throat. Oh Maker, this was going to kill her.

"You-u sacrificed yourself for me." She hiccuped and wiped her eyes with her arm. "W-Why did you do that?"

His wet eyes held hers, shimmering with too many emotions to name and so many shades of blue.

"Because I can't exist without you," he breathed roughly, eyes flicking back and forth between hers. "That makes you my soulmate, right?"

She stared into his sweet, smiling face, her heart aching and her eyes swimming. "But you left me all alone," her voice broke on the last word. "Trying to live a life without you has been a death sentence. How could you just—?"

Cole made a raw sound before closing his arms around her with such force that he very nearly knocked her off her knees and onto her back.

"Everytime." His voice was a rough, gutted sound in her ear. "Me for you. _Everytime_." His arms were fixed like steel clamps around her, a near-panicked grip that threatened to crack her ribs. "This is stone, you can't reshape it."

She was about to argue with that when her eyes rolled back into her head as she inhaled the potent scent of leather and cinnamon. Maker's breath, two long years without being able to breath in his sweet scent. Her muscles turned to water as she breathed, really breathed for the first time in two years, greedily filling her lungs with the unforgettable scent of him.

She melted against his lean chest, taking in a fistful of his armor, her cheek pressed against his heart. "How?" The question was a mere wisp of sound. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

He splayed his hands against her back while he nuzzled the top of her head. "The old woman—sharper, in both places, like Solas—her song old, very old, but only an echo of an echo of an echo."

"Flemeth?" she asked, rubbing her cheek over his heart.

She felt him nod against the top of her head. "The fragment that remained returned to the Fade. _Come with me, young man_. Her voice had been sad, her horns pointy, her insides hardened like rocks as she took me to the mirror. _Wait right here, young man._ "

Cole's death grip loosened slightly to ease her away just enough for him to see her face. His hands were unsteady as they cupped her cheeks. "I sat, sat listening and starring, nothing to see but black glass, unblinking and unsleeping, too afraid to look away, _to miss it_." His eyes shimmered, his throat working, his voiced husky, "Sitting. Starring. Watching. Waiting. _Waiting_. Two years, three months, sixteen days, nineteen minutes, ten seconds…" He exhaled an uneven breath, the gust of air ruffling the curls framing her face. "For you, I'd wait forever."

Her eyes rounded. "Maker, Cole… if I had know… I would have—"

"Don't," he whispered with a slight shake of his head as he smoothed her hair off her face. "You didn't know. Old woman never got the chance to tell you."

Her lips quivered, the fingers of her hand curling into his armor. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

His fingers slid gently over her cheeks, wiping away her tears as they slipped free of her eyes. "Never. Back to you I will always find my way."

Weeping, her hand turned to a fist, clutching at the fabric of his armor. "Please, don't leave me, ever again," she pleaded, begged. "I love you too much, Cole. I won't survive it again. I can't—"

He softly caught her bottom lip between his lips and all thoughts in her head vaporized. A shudder rippled through her with a whimper. His mouth began moving over her lips, soft and slow, with a barely there quiver. Her fingers tightened on his armor, white with the force of her grip, while the elbow of her other arm pressed against his ribs. His fingers began lightly stroking the sides of her face as he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her chin before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips again.

She slid her hand down the front of his chest, her lips chasing after his as he pulled back slightly. He stepped into her, sank his fingers in her curls, and slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue broke the barrier of her lips and slipped slowly into her mouth on a guttural groan. Her blood caught fire and her body lifted into his. His breath came out of him sweet as honey and she drew it greedily into herself as his mouth moved over hers, raw and deep, again and again and _again_.

In desperate need of air, she regretfully broke the kiss, but she didn't move away, letting her lips hover only a hairsbreadth away from his. With his fingers in her hair, they inhaled each other's air as they tried to calm their ragged breathing.

Soft kisses were pressed lightly against every feature of her face, like soft drops of rain on her skin, as his hands fisted in her curls, as if to hold her in place, like he worried she would float away and he was the only thing anchoring her to earth.

"No light. No fire. No song. All wrong—" He broke off and drew in a juddering breath. "Everything inside cold and empty and black. Had to try. Needed the real you. Listened to the song that is yours. Touched the brightest part of you. So scared I didn't do it right. I needed to know that I'd helped, that you were _you_ again. And you are." He groaned, releasing his breath with unconcealed relief. "The curse is gone. Your mind is your own. Your hand isn't pulling you apart. You glow—shinning, shimmering, radiant." With a shudder that seemed to rip right through him, his fingertips trailed down her face. "So… so _beautiful_."

His arms fell to close possessively around her waist, and her head immediately fell into the hollow of his throat. She focused her eyes on the vein in his jugular, watching it thrum with each beat of his heart. She smiled, the happiness she felt so intense it was blinding.

Cole tried to speak, but his throat wouldn't listen to him. He had no voice left but his breath. He held her close, she fit against his heart as if she were made just for him. Everything was right again, shape and soul and purpose.

He tried to loosen his crushing grip, he tried to be gentle—to pull back and tell her all the things he'd so desperately wanted to tell her all those years he'd spent staring at that mirror, but all he could do was cling to her and shake against her like a leaf.

Cole sucked in a lungful of air and gazed down at the top of her head through his tears, said the only thing in his head, "I… love… you."

Her image blurred, and he quickly buried his face in her hair. "Seen, remembered, wanted, loved," he whispered thickly, his tears soaking into her curls. "You give me all the things I never thought I'd ever have. Thank you."

"I promise to give them to you for the rest of my life," she vowed, her breath hot against the side of his throat. "Just promise you won't ever leave me again."

Gentle, she filled him. Filled his lungs, his brain, his blood vessels, his heart. "I promise, _dear heart_."

"What do we do now?" he asked softly, tucking a fiery curl behind her ear. "Where do we go?"

She beamed up at him and it was like looking into a star. "Have you ever heard of the Avaar?"

**The End**

**Translations** :

Mythal lasa ghilan: Mythal grants guidance.

Sethen'an: The Fade / Land of Dreams.

Atish'all vir sethen'an for ros elgar'enansal ir Mythal falon'lin: Enter the path of the Fade / Land of Dreams with the blessing of a spirit and the blood of a friend of Mythal.

 **Author's Note** : This chapter has a soundtrack:  _Pieces_ by Red. 


End file.
